For Clark [Warning: Graphic torture ensues]
Normally, Eight-Hour's front door doesn't open into a cave.
A lot of things, however, are abnormal about this situation.
"...Ooops," she says as it shuts behind them with a depressing sort of finality. "Um, shit."
A lot of things, however, are abnormal about this situation.
"...Ooops," she says as it shuts behind them with a depressing sort of finality. "Um, shit."
When he curses, she smiles - almost sweetly - and rakes her fingernails sharply across his back, leaving a trail of bleeding lines from shoulder to shoulder.
"Breaking you is going to be a treat," the torturer declares, amused. "You will address me as Jasmine or not at all."
Reply
"Never happen," he breathes out through gritted teeth, once he's had a few seconds to make sure he's still actually breathing. "Not by a cunt like you."
Reply
"Behave yourself, little man."
She accentuates each word by digging her fingers into the ends of those scratches on his back and pulling. When she lets go, that hand comes away bloodied, and she picks shreds of torn flesh and skin from beneath her nails with seeming unconcern.
Reply
He lets himself just lie there for a minute, panting and eyes squeezed shut, trying to remember what it felt like at sixteen with that fucking symbol burning across his chest because it felt worse than this and if he can remember that, then this won't be so bad. It can't be.
There are also a few attempts to break the chains around his wrists, to no avail. But the message is clear - he hasn't given up just yet.
Reply
When she returns mere moments later, she sets to work on Kal's shoulder, making thin parallel cuts that divide his skin into little strips. After a few of these, she sets to work on one of those strips, sliding the blade of her knife under the end and wiggling it back and forth, grasping the raised flap which this action creates and tugging gently, then finally ripping it off entirely with a sharp yank.
Every torturer has his or her little favourite. Jasmine's happens to be skinning people, one small chunk at a time. It's going to take a while.
Reply
He screams, of course. He can't not, but it turns into something else after a moment and he gathers what strength he can muster and swings around to knock her as far away from him as he can.
Which probably isn't far. It's not even one-one hundredth of his usual strength and his speed isn't anywhere close to what it should be.
But he's trying as evidenced by the small trickle of sweat finally running down the side of his face.
Reply
"Can't have that," she says. "I suppose you'll have to be secured after all."
'Secured' apparently means 'hung from the ceiling'; Jasmine winds rope around his already-tied wrists and uses this to attach them to a dangling chain, the height of which is then adjusted via a pulley until Kal's toes just barely touch the ground.
And then, of course, she retrieves her little knife and continues where she left off. On his stomach, this time.
Reply
And then he feels that knife in his stomach and fuck, he thinks he preferred his back. Thrashing probably isn't the smartest way to retaliate, but with his legs still free, it's all he's got.
Reply
It's hard to thrash when your knees are nailed to the wall with iron spikes.
Jasmine goes back to work. She's having an excellent day, really she is - an excellence that only grows every time she adds to the pile she's keeping with all the little scraps of skin she's torn off so far. In fact, the next time Kal screams, she just might giggle.
Reply
Reply
Well, that's all right - he's obviously not going to be moving much at this point, and she can always come back later.
It's several hours before she returns, wearing slightly more practical clothing - she does so hate to get blood on the silver, so she's chosen dark green leather this time. The bracelets, however, remain.
Reply
He'd never wished for some kryptonite induced nightmare so much in his life, but there's no discounting the pain in his back, stomach and legs, or that he can still feel the intense and familiar burning around his wrists. Breathing hurts, so he tries not to do that more than he has to, but his heart started racing the second he realized he really was stuck in some torture chamber so it's not easy to do.
Even worse, he knows she's going to be coming back, eventually.
Reply
Jasmine frowns, disappointed, and gives a cruel laugh.
"I suppose it didn't take that long to break you, after all. Ah, well. May as well finish what I started."
She sets something down on a table with a clink - Clark can't see what it is from his angle - and picks up her knife again to continue working her way up his stomach, ripping off skin and adding it to the pile in small pieces.
Reply
Even his screams are different now, raw with emotion instead of simply a reaction to the physical pain induced. Jazz should be experienced enough to know that this is more than someone having been broken - it's almost a completely different person.
And there's a very tell tale sign of that.
"Please."
Reply
"Quiet. I know I didn't turn you into this much of a pathetic lump this quickly."
Going to the table, Jazz retrieves the source of the earlier clink.
"This should cheer you up," she says sarcastically, breaking the bottle of Scorcher across his face. It shatters, shards of glass slicing him up further, and he's soon dripping with the stuff, which stings sharply whenever it trickles across someplace where he's missing skin. The flickers and washes of artificial euphoria do nothing to make this any better.
Reply
"Yeah, I'm fan-fucking-tastic, you spineless whore."
Reply
Leave a comment