What exactly Happened to Evan
He left one last time and came back, the silver framed glasses replaced by lab goggles, and his collared button up black shirt hidden by a once-white lab coat that instead had faded reddish brown stains on it. Chief looked at one of those stains. It strangely looked like an apple. The man saw him looking and simply clucked his tongue and sighed.
“I ask them, but they never replace my work clothes. Such a shame. There’s nothing nicer then working in a clean white lab coat.” The man shrugged and reached for something that Chief could not see. The man held up a syringe filled with an odd whitish liquid. He tapped it and depressed it slightly to remove any air bubbles.
“Don’t want an air bubble in your veins yet.” He said mock cheerfully. He wiped an area of chief’s arm with a cool astringent liquid. And then the needle pricked into his skin and he felt the liquid enter his viens and start to circulate. Chief thrashed his head from side to side, not uttering a sound, only trying to dispel the odd feeling of the drug creeping through his blood through his body.
The man tsked and suddenly there was a padded leather band holding his head in place too.
“Don’t want you snapping your neck by accident do we now?” The man said and then waited for a long moment. Chief simply stared at the ceiling and remember what he had been taught about if he had ever been captured. Tell them nothing. Tell them nothing but your Number. Nothing but your Number. Chief licked his lips, feeling it with an odd sensitivity, the wet muscle nervously caressing the too thin skin of his lips. And then he spoke for the first time to the man.
“336777” The man blinked and then smiled indulgently, a truly frightening expression.
“Your number I assume. How quaint. And what were you called by your dead teammates?” Those words were delivered softly but were designed to cut all the same. Chief swallowed feeling the muscles in the throat contract and the salaiva slide down his throat, soothing a strange dryness that came for no reason he could think of. But he then again addressed the man.
“Chief.” He felt an odd feeling at revealing that, but he also knew it was useless information. Or so he thought. The man blinked again, and he visibly surprised.
“You are Chief?” The man’s voice was not only thick with surprise but also with Awe. And a terrible, terrible glee. “You are the brat that has been killing our men by the battalion?” He chuckled deep in his throat. “I am honored. I think I’ll have a bit more fun then I had planned on having.” His smiled twisted into a sadistically pleased smile. “I am simply called Charon.” Chief blinked and then felt his eyes widen, the eyelids sliding over the wetness of the victus humor and the bumpiness of the lens. He KNEW who this man was. He was whisphered about. CHaron.
A man so cruel and terrible that a soldier was better off killing himself then falling into that demons hands. Some said he was in his late thirties, other claimed that he was only 26. Looking at the man Chief couldn’t tell his age, but felt that the man was probably closer to the 26 then his late thirties. Charon laughed at Chief reaction. “
And as I have heard about you, you have heard about me.” Chief felt his lips twitch into a sardonic smile the muscles on the right side twitching higher then the left giving it the lopsided arrogant sardonic cast. It hid his fear.
“Your supposed to be seven feet tall, have a necklace of human eyes, lived hundreds of year, and moonlight as a ferryman.” Charon laughed again.
“Rumor is always grossly exaggerated. I have hardly lived a hundred years, only a measly two decades and a half.” But he did not deny the thing about the human eyes, nor the ferryman jab. Instead he smiled again.
“Tell me, can you feel this?” And then there was a sensation at Chief feet. It felt like a gloved hand tapping his foot, but the feeling was so heightened that it was almost painful. “Yes.” He said. Chief was strangely fearless at this moment. Perhaps it was because he knew he was going to die. Perhaps his senses had simply fled him, leaving only cold intellect and a need to be sarcastic and defensive. Charon nodded.
“Excellent. The drug is working so I can begin.” There was a clatter of metal on metal and then his right (left?) arm was freed from the restraint. Charon took position there with a strange metal instrument that he set at Chief’s fingertips.
Then the pain started.
It was excruciating, the pain. It spread from his fingertips, no from his very fingernails and shot up his arm like red hot needles. Red hot needles of pure acid eating at the nerves and causing his arm to jerk and spasm. But Charon did not loose his easy grip on Chief’s wrist. Instead he smiled, almost beatifically. The pain spread agonizingly until it felt that the tops of his finger were getting shaved off, thin layer of skin by thin layer of skin, slowly and terribly until his finger were stiff from the agony the muscles screaming in protest as they were agonizingly held taunt. Muscle fiber scraping muscles fiber and he could feel it.
Then CHaron moved away, the metal device in his hand dripping blood. He moved a few levers and four bloody fingernails fell from the device to the floor. But even though the device was gone, the pain was still there. It was there as the air itself moved over the naked sensitive nerve endings. It was then that chief realized that tears had gathered in his eyes and he had bitten his lip bloody because he did not scream. Charon set the device down and picked up Chief’s raw and sensitive hand from where it had fallen and scrutinized the empty nail beds that stil bled. Then he picked up something else. A jar. He held it with one hand and his a tight firm grip took the boy’s hand and dipped the finger ends in the jar.
Chief screamed.
It was as if those exposed wounds had suddenly be burned with fire, frozen with ice, hit with lemon juice and scrapped along a cheese grater all at once. The sensations screamed into his brain and it did the only thing it could do. It tried to shut down. But chief found he couldn’t even faint from the pain.
Instead the pain just kept flowing down the arm to he brain one long hot flash of pain that made him feel as if the bone in that arm had turned to acid and the flesh fire. Charon set the arm down and studied it before nodding to himself a cruelly little smile on his lips. He moved to the other side of Chief and grabbed a few new items. Chief felt tears spill down his cheeks, but he moved his bloodied lips, the copper and salt taste filling nouth and being swallowed.
“I though you were supposed to ask question as you tortured?” Charon looked at Chief with an expression of cheerfulness.
“Yes. Normally. But in your case, there is no more information needed. We already have a mole in your army. How do you think I knew who you were and what you were exactly doing to this army?” His smiled twisted to one of dark pleasure. “And so, you are simply here to keep me in practice.”
Chief felt a strange emotion in his chest, one that knotted his gut again and nearly sent him back into pure fear. But something in him held strong and he kept up his mental shields. Charon laughed appreciatively.
“And I feel that you are going to give me the chance to greatly explore my skills.” Charon moved holding four long, thin metal rods that tapered to a sharp point in his hand. IN the other a hammer. He moved down to Chie’f restrained legs and set the point of one of the rods at an angle, between the bones of the leg. Chief could feel the light pin prick or it was if it was already through the skin. And then Charon brought down the hammer, with such expert precision and force that it went straight through his leg, almost all the way through with the first tap.
Chief held in his scream though it rattled his vocal chords to a painful point as he stifled the scream, allowing on the faintest sounds though. His leg convulsed as nerve sent to pain up to the brain and reflexes acted as reflexes do. To move away from the pain. But as the muscle the stake went through contracted Chief had to stop another agonized scream. The stake had looked perfectly smooth but it simply was not so. There was a slightly rough surface to it that the muscle fibers caught and tore on. And with his heighten sense of touch he could feel it and it sent more pain rocketing through his leg. And then the pain was double as Charon had moved and drove another stake through his other leg causing the same jerked convulsions and spasms of pain. Like lemon juice on scraped raw skin, exposed nerve endings flooded with acidic tang of citric acid.
Chief whimpered, and clenched his jaw together, teeth creaking under the great pressure. Charon hummed to himself, a bright jaunty tune as he moved to Chief’s right arm, the one that had not lost it’s finger nails and placed the tip of a third stake before also swiftly driving it home with practiced ease. Charon choked on the blood from his bit lip and cried out, coughing, choking, as the pain jolted up from his arm a ,lightening bolt to the brain, blanking out his vision and making him try and wrench away from the pain, sending more pain up the nerves and a new, duller pain in his shoulder. Charon tsked and pried open Chief’s mouth, using a small vacuum to remove the blood Chief was choking on.
“no, no. Your not going to get away that easily.” He chided gently. Then he re-strapped the other hand to the table, jolting it and causing a light wave of pain from the fingernail beds. And then he took the fourth and final stake, aiming and drove it through the muscle, nicking the bone this time. Chief screamed, and then his vocal chords blew out. Charon smiled. “And that is the last thing for today. After all, I have other’s I must see too. But before you return to your cell…” Charon moved away the white doors soundless swinging. There was a long moment as Chief fought back more tears and tried not to move, not to send those little imps of pain dancing through his nerves, but his muscles moved and contracted on there own and he HURT.
Charon returned holding an IV drip-pole and bag. It was filled with an odd blood colored solution. “It’s a medicine to boost the immune system and encourage a body to produce blood.” Charon intoned lightly. Chief stared at it. “Also give nurtrients and the like, a real treat. Of course,” He spoke as he prepared the needle track and wiped Chief’s arm, “You are far to young to be able to safetly take the blood medicine but you’ll be fine. It’s so you can replace what you will loose.” Chief felt his expression grow hard and Charon chuckled and deftly inserted the needle, a tiny white hot prick, before gently patting Chief’s cheek.
“There. And If I find you have removed it at any time I will put lye and lemon juice in your open wounds and make your you stay awake.” Chief paled. Charon studied his face then nodded. “Good boy. Now, this WILL hurt.” And then Charon proceeded to rip the stakes out of chief’s arms and legs, making Chief white out, even as he still felt the pain. He laid there a long moment, odd half stifled noises coming from his throat. Charon watched him and then undid the straps, still half humming to himself. Then, to chief surprise, Charon lifted the boy from the bed and moved through the double white doors. His confusion must have been evident on his pain twisted face for he felt and heard Charon laugh.
“Can’t have you go scaring the others. I need to have the element of surprise because I actually NEED information out of some of those people.” Chief agreed that it made a sick kind of sense and focus on his surrounding trying to block out the pain, for Charon was NOT carrying him gently. Behind those white doors was a simple lab. A simple lab with walls full of metal devices that left one guessing what exactly they were used for. Past that a corridor with compartments in the wall full of a yellowish green liquid. Chief jolted as he saw a human body floating in one, missing both legs, eye stitched shut.
Then another one, this human cut perfectly in half from crown to groin. Another, a child, flesh flayed from the bones showing muscles and ligaments and bone in sharp detail. Chief choked and buried his face into CHarons shoulder just not Looking. He felt Charon chuckle again. This one was very dark. He shuddered. And then CHaron was setting him on a not too uncomfortable bed. He looked around, not looking his limbs which still hurt and bled. It was a small room with an open door to the hall. Charon stepped back and walked to the door. He paused just outside and looked at Chief.
“I don’t lock you in, but if you try to escape, I’ll put you I formaldehyde alive. It is not a pleasant way to die, especially with open wounds. Just ask the others.” He laughed darkly and then was gone. Chief swallowed, remember what he had seen and the one thing he could remember with grotesque clarity. Each of there mouths had been open in a scream of agony. He shuddered and lay there, wounds bleeding and pain coming in waves that slowly started to ebb as long as he did not move. He felt the blood soaking through the sheets and spreading underneath his body. Not much, but enough to make him worry until he remembered the IV drip supplying his body his anti-bodies to fight infection and a chemical to increase his blood production. He would not bleed to death, or die from infection. But that though did not comfort him. In fact he felt a strange roaring emptiness in his chest.
And then more screaming started. It seemed that Charon had not been kidding about other to torture.
Even with the cacophony of pained screams chief felt himself slowly drifting off. His last though before he succumbed to darkness was that Charon must have also put in a sedative or he had lost to much blood and Charon’s blood replenishing chemical was not working yet. Then he knew no more.
Day one: Fingernails ripped off. Mini acid bath on finger tips. Stakes through limbs. Drugs for heighten senses/
Day two: Hot irons. Drugs for heightened senses. Other fingernails ripped off.
Day three: Drugs. Toenails ripped out. Stitching together of lips, figners, toes, random stitches in flesh then ripped out. Careful cleaning of body.
Day four. Live autopsy.
Day five. Charon in a hurry, and takes grind stone to his arm. Grind stone runs so fast it cauterizes at the same time.
“I ask them, but they never replace my work clothes. Such a shame. There’s nothing nicer then working in a clean white lab coat.” The man shrugged and reached for something that Chief could not see. The man held up a syringe filled with an odd whitish liquid. He tapped it and depressed it slightly to remove any air bubbles.
“Don’t want an air bubble in your veins yet.” He said mock cheerfully. He wiped an area of chief’s arm with a cool astringent liquid. And then the needle pricked into his skin and he felt the liquid enter his viens and start to circulate. Chief thrashed his head from side to side, not uttering a sound, only trying to dispel the odd feeling of the drug creeping through his blood through his body.
The man tsked and suddenly there was a padded leather band holding his head in place too.
“Don’t want you snapping your neck by accident do we now?” The man said and then waited for a long moment. Chief simply stared at the ceiling and remember what he had been taught about if he had ever been captured. Tell them nothing. Tell them nothing but your Number. Nothing but your Number. Chief licked his lips, feeling it with an odd sensitivity, the wet muscle nervously caressing the too thin skin of his lips. And then he spoke for the first time to the man.
“336777” The man blinked and then smiled indulgently, a truly frightening expression.
“Your number I assume. How quaint. And what were you called by your dead teammates?” Those words were delivered softly but were designed to cut all the same. Chief swallowed feeling the muscles in the throat contract and the salaiva slide down his throat, soothing a strange dryness that came for no reason he could think of. But he then again addressed the man.
“Chief.” He felt an odd feeling at revealing that, but he also knew it was useless information. Or so he thought. The man blinked again, and he visibly surprised.
“You are Chief?” The man’s voice was not only thick with surprise but also with Awe. And a terrible, terrible glee. “You are the brat that has been killing our men by the battalion?” He chuckled deep in his throat. “I am honored. I think I’ll have a bit more fun then I had planned on having.” His smiled twisted into a sadistically pleased smile. “I am simply called Charon.” Chief blinked and then felt his eyes widen, the eyelids sliding over the wetness of the victus humor and the bumpiness of the lens. He KNEW who this man was. He was whisphered about. CHaron.
A man so cruel and terrible that a soldier was better off killing himself then falling into that demons hands. Some said he was in his late thirties, other claimed that he was only 26. Looking at the man Chief couldn’t tell his age, but felt that the man was probably closer to the 26 then his late thirties. Charon laughed at Chief reaction. “
And as I have heard about you, you have heard about me.” Chief felt his lips twitch into a sardonic smile the muscles on the right side twitching higher then the left giving it the lopsided arrogant sardonic cast. It hid his fear.
“Your supposed to be seven feet tall, have a necklace of human eyes, lived hundreds of year, and moonlight as a ferryman.” Charon laughed again.
“Rumor is always grossly exaggerated. I have hardly lived a hundred years, only a measly two decades and a half.” But he did not deny the thing about the human eyes, nor the ferryman jab. Instead he smiled again.
“Tell me, can you feel this?” And then there was a sensation at Chief feet. It felt like a gloved hand tapping his foot, but the feeling was so heightened that it was almost painful. “Yes.” He said. Chief was strangely fearless at this moment. Perhaps it was because he knew he was going to die. Perhaps his senses had simply fled him, leaving only cold intellect and a need to be sarcastic and defensive. Charon nodded.
“Excellent. The drug is working so I can begin.” There was a clatter of metal on metal and then his right (left?) arm was freed from the restraint. Charon took position there with a strange metal instrument that he set at Chief’s fingertips.
Then the pain started.
It was excruciating, the pain. It spread from his fingertips, no from his very fingernails and shot up his arm like red hot needles. Red hot needles of pure acid eating at the nerves and causing his arm to jerk and spasm. But Charon did not loose his easy grip on Chief’s wrist. Instead he smiled, almost beatifically. The pain spread agonizingly until it felt that the tops of his finger were getting shaved off, thin layer of skin by thin layer of skin, slowly and terribly until his finger were stiff from the agony the muscles screaming in protest as they were agonizingly held taunt. Muscle fiber scraping muscles fiber and he could feel it.
Then CHaron moved away, the metal device in his hand dripping blood. He moved a few levers and four bloody fingernails fell from the device to the floor. But even though the device was gone, the pain was still there. It was there as the air itself moved over the naked sensitive nerve endings. It was then that chief realized that tears had gathered in his eyes and he had bitten his lip bloody because he did not scream. Charon set the device down and picked up Chief’s raw and sensitive hand from where it had fallen and scrutinized the empty nail beds that stil bled. Then he picked up something else. A jar. He held it with one hand and his a tight firm grip took the boy’s hand and dipped the finger ends in the jar.
Chief screamed.
It was as if those exposed wounds had suddenly be burned with fire, frozen with ice, hit with lemon juice and scrapped along a cheese grater all at once. The sensations screamed into his brain and it did the only thing it could do. It tried to shut down. But chief found he couldn’t even faint from the pain.
Instead the pain just kept flowing down the arm to he brain one long hot flash of pain that made him feel as if the bone in that arm had turned to acid and the flesh fire. Charon set the arm down and studied it before nodding to himself a cruelly little smile on his lips. He moved to the other side of Chief and grabbed a few new items. Chief felt tears spill down his cheeks, but he moved his bloodied lips, the copper and salt taste filling nouth and being swallowed.
“I though you were supposed to ask question as you tortured?” Charon looked at Chief with an expression of cheerfulness.
“Yes. Normally. But in your case, there is no more information needed. We already have a mole in your army. How do you think I knew who you were and what you were exactly doing to this army?” His smiled twisted to one of dark pleasure. “And so, you are simply here to keep me in practice.”
Chief felt a strange emotion in his chest, one that knotted his gut again and nearly sent him back into pure fear. But something in him held strong and he kept up his mental shields. Charon laughed appreciatively.
“And I feel that you are going to give me the chance to greatly explore my skills.” Charon moved holding four long, thin metal rods that tapered to a sharp point in his hand. IN the other a hammer. He moved down to Chie’f restrained legs and set the point of one of the rods at an angle, between the bones of the leg. Chief could feel the light pin prick or it was if it was already through the skin. And then Charon brought down the hammer, with such expert precision and force that it went straight through his leg, almost all the way through with the first tap.
Chief held in his scream though it rattled his vocal chords to a painful point as he stifled the scream, allowing on the faintest sounds though. His leg convulsed as nerve sent to pain up to the brain and reflexes acted as reflexes do. To move away from the pain. But as the muscle the stake went through contracted Chief had to stop another agonized scream. The stake had looked perfectly smooth but it simply was not so. There was a slightly rough surface to it that the muscle fibers caught and tore on. And with his heighten sense of touch he could feel it and it sent more pain rocketing through his leg. And then the pain was double as Charon had moved and drove another stake through his other leg causing the same jerked convulsions and spasms of pain. Like lemon juice on scraped raw skin, exposed nerve endings flooded with acidic tang of citric acid.
Chief whimpered, and clenched his jaw together, teeth creaking under the great pressure. Charon hummed to himself, a bright jaunty tune as he moved to Chief’s right arm, the one that had not lost it’s finger nails and placed the tip of a third stake before also swiftly driving it home with practiced ease. Charon choked on the blood from his bit lip and cried out, coughing, choking, as the pain jolted up from his arm a ,lightening bolt to the brain, blanking out his vision and making him try and wrench away from the pain, sending more pain up the nerves and a new, duller pain in his shoulder. Charon tsked and pried open Chief’s mouth, using a small vacuum to remove the blood Chief was choking on.
“no, no. Your not going to get away that easily.” He chided gently. Then he re-strapped the other hand to the table, jolting it and causing a light wave of pain from the fingernail beds. And then he took the fourth and final stake, aiming and drove it through the muscle, nicking the bone this time. Chief screamed, and then his vocal chords blew out. Charon smiled. “And that is the last thing for today. After all, I have other’s I must see too. But before you return to your cell…” Charon moved away the white doors soundless swinging. There was a long moment as Chief fought back more tears and tried not to move, not to send those little imps of pain dancing through his nerves, but his muscles moved and contracted on there own and he HURT.
Charon returned holding an IV drip-pole and bag. It was filled with an odd blood colored solution. “It’s a medicine to boost the immune system and encourage a body to produce blood.” Charon intoned lightly. Chief stared at it. “Also give nurtrients and the like, a real treat. Of course,” He spoke as he prepared the needle track and wiped Chief’s arm, “You are far to young to be able to safetly take the blood medicine but you’ll be fine. It’s so you can replace what you will loose.” Chief felt his expression grow hard and Charon chuckled and deftly inserted the needle, a tiny white hot prick, before gently patting Chief’s cheek.
“There. And If I find you have removed it at any time I will put lye and lemon juice in your open wounds and make your you stay awake.” Chief paled. Charon studied his face then nodded. “Good boy. Now, this WILL hurt.” And then Charon proceeded to rip the stakes out of chief’s arms and legs, making Chief white out, even as he still felt the pain. He laid there a long moment, odd half stifled noises coming from his throat. Charon watched him and then undid the straps, still half humming to himself. Then, to chief surprise, Charon lifted the boy from the bed and moved through the double white doors. His confusion must have been evident on his pain twisted face for he felt and heard Charon laugh.
“Can’t have you go scaring the others. I need to have the element of surprise because I actually NEED information out of some of those people.” Chief agreed that it made a sick kind of sense and focus on his surrounding trying to block out the pain, for Charon was NOT carrying him gently. Behind those white doors was a simple lab. A simple lab with walls full of metal devices that left one guessing what exactly they were used for. Past that a corridor with compartments in the wall full of a yellowish green liquid. Chief jolted as he saw a human body floating in one, missing both legs, eye stitched shut.
Then another one, this human cut perfectly in half from crown to groin. Another, a child, flesh flayed from the bones showing muscles and ligaments and bone in sharp detail. Chief choked and buried his face into CHarons shoulder just not Looking. He felt Charon chuckle again. This one was very dark. He shuddered. And then CHaron was setting him on a not too uncomfortable bed. He looked around, not looking his limbs which still hurt and bled. It was a small room with an open door to the hall. Charon stepped back and walked to the door. He paused just outside and looked at Chief.
“I don’t lock you in, but if you try to escape, I’ll put you I formaldehyde alive. It is not a pleasant way to die, especially with open wounds. Just ask the others.” He laughed darkly and then was gone. Chief swallowed, remember what he had seen and the one thing he could remember with grotesque clarity. Each of there mouths had been open in a scream of agony. He shuddered and lay there, wounds bleeding and pain coming in waves that slowly started to ebb as long as he did not move. He felt the blood soaking through the sheets and spreading underneath his body. Not much, but enough to make him worry until he remembered the IV drip supplying his body his anti-bodies to fight infection and a chemical to increase his blood production. He would not bleed to death, or die from infection. But that though did not comfort him. In fact he felt a strange roaring emptiness in his chest.
And then more screaming started. It seemed that Charon had not been kidding about other to torture.
Even with the cacophony of pained screams chief felt himself slowly drifting off. His last though before he succumbed to darkness was that Charon must have also put in a sedative or he had lost to much blood and Charon’s blood replenishing chemical was not working yet. Then he knew no more.
Day one: Fingernails ripped off. Mini acid bath on finger tips. Stakes through limbs. Drugs for heighten senses/
Day two: Hot irons. Drugs for heightened senses. Other fingernails ripped off.
Day three: Drugs. Toenails ripped out. Stitching together of lips, figners, toes, random stitches in flesh then ripped out. Careful cleaning of body.
Day four. Live autopsy.
Day five. Charon in a hurry, and takes grind stone to his arm. Grind stone runs so fast it cauterizes at the same time.