This one is a little rough, (Not that the rest of them are polished...or even...good) but I’m trying to finish whumptober in the only way that I can--poorly but with lots of gusto, I’m very sorry, but I am always very clear about what I am, a trash-prompter with goblin energy (I’m starting to entertain the possibility of failure). 

The whumpee is yanked up off of the cold floor, they groan, their body is so badly broken that any movement is agony. Their ribs shift wrongly in their chest as they are leaned up against the wall, their breath comes in shallow hitching gasps, as they try to keep from blacking out again, they slide a little down the wall, too weak to keep themselves propped up. Their head spins, it had been so long since they’d had anything to eat, there had been the bucket of water, but they’d had to be careful, rationing between the whumper’s beatings. They’d started looking forward to them, even if they would never openly admit it to themselves, if only because it meant they’d be getting fresh water, to have the blindfold taken off, even if the only thing that they’d be able to see was the whumper getting more an more frustrated as time passed and they’d refused to give up their friends. 

This last time they’d made the bucket last a long time--maybe as long as two weeks--it was hard to keep any kind of time here. they’d run out yesterday, they could feel reality getting thinner underneath them, at night when they finally slipped into shallow uneasy slumber, they dreamed that they were free, sometimes the dreams felt more real than here did. 

They’d been afraid that this time the whumper wasn’t coming back, that they would finally be allowed to die as they slowly rationed their water, listening intently to the silence for some movement, some indication that they weren’t left here. They’d made their peace with death. It was the only obvious way out that they could see anymore, they knew that escape was impossible, they couldn’t even move anymore, 

 Some sick part of their mind lights up with hope at the rough treatment, even as the pain comes roaring back into their life like an old and angry friend, they’d been laying shivering and blindfolded on the floor since the whumper had last beaten them, they had no way to measure how long ago that was--but it felt like it had been weeks. 

Even if they weren’t being rescued at least they weren’t alone. 

“You still with me?!” The whumper growls, too close to him--he’s too close! But the whumpee can’t move away, he just whimpers softly. 

The whumper’s calloused fingers are not gentle when they rip the blindfold off, yanking out several strands of the whumpee’s hair as they do. They whumpee has his swollen eyes squeezed shut, dried tears, blood, and dust are caked on his pale face as he trembles, unable to stop that movement, even if it’s zapping his small storehouse of strength to be so afraid. 

“Look at me!” The whumper shouts, causing the whumpee to jump violently, crying out as the movement further ignites the burning ache that has become their entire existence. They comply, struggling to open their eyes, for a moment they can’t see anything other than blinding light, they’d been here in the dark for so long their eyes have a hard time focusing in the light. 

When they do they see that the whumper is holding a camera, it’s small and black, one dark high resolution eye trained on them, catching them in all of their pathetic glory, they look away--shame burning in their chest. 

“Go-gonna k-kill me?” They ask, thinking that the presence of the camera changes things, their voice is a raspy croak, a cemetery gate protesting the wind, but they still manage to give away the burning terrible hope in the question. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” the whumper taunts, keeping the camera on them,“You’d like for this to be over?” 

The whumpee knows better than to lie, they nod, an almost imperceptible movement, full of regret at speaking, full of shame. 

The whumper laughs at them, it’s terrible and mocking, making the whumpee want to cover their face and cry, they might have if they’d had the energy.  They say something to the camera--something the whumpee doesn’t quite catch, it sounded like they were asking for money? 

The whumpee is starting to sink away into the dark again, fighting to keep their half-lidded eyes open, their vision blurs, but right before they can sink under the blessed darkness that has become their only solace in this place, the whumper grabs a handful of their hair and yanks their head up. 

“Let’s give your friends a little show to light a fire under them, huh?” They pull on the whumpee’s hair, trying to force them to standing, but the whumpee just groans, they don’t have the energy to move anymore--can’t the whumper see that? They don’t have anything left! 

The whumper takes this as a challenge, kicking them roughly in their bruised stomach, all of the air in their lungs rushes out, they gasp, trying to breath air that won’t come, a crooked shaking hand comes up to grasp the whumper’s pant leg weakly in a gesture that begs for mercy. This doesn’t dissuade the whumper at all, the continued kicks to their already battered body, they don’t stay conscious for much of it, the darkness swallowing them into a darker kind of safety. Their body crumples against the wall, the barely scabbed over wounds on their torso beginning to bleed freshly. 

The whumper wipes the whumpee’s blood off of their boots on the whumpee’s bloody shirt, they are huffing as they pick up the camera again, their face fills the screen, a sick smile on their waxen face, “He’s really not looking so good, huh?” They snort in amusement, before turning back to the issue at hand,  “if you don’t bring me the five-hundred thousand by tomorrow, I’ll grant his wish and kill him,” the camera pans back down to show the whumpee again, one last look at them as they struggle to draw air into their lungs. 

“Otherwise,” the whumper’s voice comes, “say goodbye.” 

The video goes dark, the leader clears their throat, looking back at the rest of the team with red rimmed eyes, most of them are crying, even if the reactions of the team range the gamut, some of them are shaking in barely contained rage, a few had to leave to be sick, one of them has sunk to the floor--their glassy eyes wide with horror.