âWhat have they done to you?
My muse is being held hostage and is being experimented on. Send me âWhat have they done to you?â for my museâs response to yours finding them shackled and chained in a small room. |Â @antiiheroics
Tap, tap, tap; went the water droplets as they dripped from a broken pipe on the ceiling to the ground behind Warren.  The sound which grew almost soothing compare to the Ramblings of madmen.  The air was damp, the smell of mold and blood overbearing. The roaring  voice of one particular large man, echoed in the small concrete room where he and three others kept Warren hostage. This manâs words, were determined to sway Warrenâs will, stupid enough to think he would betray his twin brother so they could get a cut of the Souliere family funds. Well, he was wrong, and Warren kicked up more of a resistance than they initially planned.
They ended up smacking him around, and pinned him down. One stole his phone while the other planted Warrenâs right hand on a wooden crate, shoved the tip of a hunterâs knife under his fingernail and plucked it off. Warren had made an effort to tug away just after the pain shot through his finger, which caused the blade to slice down. Â He swore, kicked and screamed in pain and tried to get away, all of which he didnât realize was filmed until he caught the camera of his phone pointed in his direction. They made a little ten second Snapchat video, overlaid with text that demanded a ransom or a trade, sending it to his brother. Â Enraged, he managed to pull himself free from the goons hold and smack the phone from their hand, it landed in a puddle. Thank fuck. He was late to stop it from being sent, but at least his actions would prevent any further communication between them, and his brother. Â Of course, his actions also managed to anger the guys in the room and as a resulted all three ganged up on him.
He blacked out, but when he awoke, he was chained with his hands above his head, his body dangling just high enough off the ground for the front sole of his bare feet to balance him on the cold concrete floor. He was beaten and bruised, spitting blood to the side because of a busted lip, but thatâs not where his torment would end. For five days, like clock-work each had a few hours where they tried what they could to get any information out of him, address, phone number, something so they continue their little mission. Of course, Warren didnât say anything, or more precisely nothing of value. His answers were vague, filled with lies, sarcasm and jokes. Didnât help him much, in fact, they turned to unusual torture methods because of his snarky remarks..
At the end of each day, they patched him up but they were a lot better at creating wounds than fixing them, even their stitches and bandages were unusually sloppy. After six days, the fun and games ended  when Warren started to become ill. His fighting spirit started to give way as a nasty fever grabs a hold of him. They tried to fix it by drenching him in buckets of iced water, they were goons, they didnât know better, didnât know they were making it worse. They started fighting among each other when he stopped responding to them at all. One specifically mentioning that they in fact did need him alive. Warren assumed he was the smart one out of the bunch.
The next day, Warren had trouble staying conscious, which had the goons ease up on the hitting. Hallelujah. They all ended up  agreeing in letting him down, give him time to recover. They shackled his hands and feet, and left him on the cold concrete floor. They offered him food for the first time in a week, but he did not care to touch it.  He had no appetite. They tried to force feed him, which resulted in him throwing it back up, the only thing he seemed to keep down was water. There was no recovering, not in a place like this. After two days they stopped coming around and he was left in a place by himself, left with no sound but water running and his coughing echoing through concrete prison. Was this place going to become his tomb?
On the eleventh day he woke up being pulled up into a sitting position, flashlights swooping over the dark room, boots treading just outside the door. He couldnât make out most of the voices, they were just noise. His brows furrowed when he heard his name, his eyes, struggling to stay open as a familiar voice, yet foreign with concern asked him several questions  âWhat have they done to you? Who the fuck did this? Are you okay? Talk to me.â Confused Warren stared for a good few seconds. He felt a tug on his wrists that were raw and bruise, his right hand, unable to move when he tried to reach out and stop him. Who was this man?
âKit?â  He whispered in a hoarse tone when his mind finally comprehended who it was  but the moment it did, he became frantic. âNononono.â He mumbled, afraid that Kit had walked into a trap. He went through so much to prevent this from happening, was his worse fear now going to play out before him? Despite all his effort?! Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried to push Kit away and tell him to get out of there, run. Kit tried to calm him down, but Warren didnât seem to cooperate, not even when he held him and told him it was going to be okay. No, Warren didnât calm down, not until he could make out  that the flashlights outside the door was friendly. Not until two police officers step inside, their uniform visible for him to see. And not until he knew he and his brother was out of harms way. Only then did he mumbling stop and he fell quiet.
His tears didnât stop falling thought when his brother pulled away to check on him, finding his sudden silence a bit alarming. Warrenâs eyes were dull and bloodshot, and he was clearly beyond exhausted. Kit turn to scold the officers, requesting that the doctor that traveled with the search party get the fuck over and help him. He unshackled Warren as he waited, the cops trying to help him where  they could. The doctor scurried over after a few minutes and Kit had to move as the doctor laid down her MED-kit and examine Warren.  She checked his pupils, his pulse, his temperature. She notices the tips of his fingers were swollen, with some wrapped in old bandages which was colored in dried blood.  He had a black eye, cut on his head, broken nose and piercings ripped from his ears. He had several cuts and deep bruises.  A few ribs more than likely cracked or broken and a badly bandaged wound on his side and leg. The two bandaged wounds were the only ones he actively cringes and tried to move away when she attempted to touch it, which she only presumed meant that they were pretty bad. The examination ended with the doctor explaining that they need to move Warren to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. He wasnât just badly wounded, he seemed to have developed Pneumonia.
