Bleeding Out
Title: Bleeding Out
Author: akat
Fandom: Revolution
Rating: R for language and violence
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS or Revolution.
Summary: Faith wasn’t too proud to admit it; being on the receiving end of torture sucked. She would have much rather been the one doling it out, if she wasn’t, you know, ‘reformed’.
Word Count: 1610
A/N: Title of this fic is in reference to, and inspired by, the Imagine Dragons song. As a side note, am I the only one who thinks that most of their songs scream of Faith in some sort of crossover?
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Faith wasn’t too proud to admit it; being on the receiving end of torture sucked. She would have much rather been the one doling it out, if she wasn’t, you know, ‘reformed’.
Of course, the way things were going, she was headed straight for a relapse, one that had Strauss’ name on it. The sick son of a bitch definitely deserved it -- and that was only after hot and blunt. He still had three more to go.
From the looks of it, he was switching it up to sharp today.
It was not a good sign. She hadn’t lost any vital body parts so far, and she wanted to keep it that way. A blade in the hands of a psychopath really hurt her odds.
Faith watched him move out of the corner of her eye, though she made sure her gaze wasn’t too sharp, her movements too alert; same when she tugged experimentally on the chains that bound her to a pole a moment later. And when she realized that they had made a mistake, only binding her from shoulder to waist, probably thinking she was too weak to try anything by now, she swallowed her smile.
She’d be damned if she let on that she was slowly becoming immune to the drug cocktail they were always dosing her with. It was her ace in the hole, her only one.
She had no delusions that someone was going to come charging in to the rescue. The only people who gave a fuck about her were dead for all she knew; she had been on a solo mission in Boston when the Blackout happened, and she had been cut off from everyone ever since.
No, she only had herself to rely on, and slowly but surely, she was getting there. Sometimes, when she and Strauss were in the middle of one of their little sessions, it was the only thing that kept her going; well, that and imagining the look the fucker would have on his face when she finally made her move. Just thinking about it now put her in a good mood, and a smile escaped before she could stop it.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Strauss grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her to look up at him.
Faith quickly coughed to disguise her smirk, trying her best to make it seem like she hadn’t recovered from the day before yet. Sadly, she was pretty damn convincing. Asphyxiation had that effect, especially when paired with a swollen mouth, courtesy of Strauss and his creative dental work.
“Before we begin, I’m supposed to tell you that if you cooperate, all this can stop,” he said.
Faith just moaned in response, letting her eyes glaze over in a kind of drugged confusion.
She saw Strauss grin as he straightened up, letting go of her hair in the process.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Personally, I don’t see the point in asking. You’re lucky if you know your name by now, let alone what you are or where you came from,” he said. Then he raised the knife he was holding and gave her a nasty smile. “Not that I’m complaining. Now, let’s put your freak healing ability to the test.”
Faith jerked involuntarily at the sharp stab of pain she felt in her arm. A second later, she felt the blood pouring out of the cut, right before he did the same to the other arm, though he added a twist this time.
As Strauss stood back to admire his handiwork, his breath hitched a little.
Faith’s hands curled into fists. The sick fuck was getting off on this. She could practically taste his excitement.
Not for the first time, she cursed the day she had crossed paths with Monroe and his pal, Matheson. Fuck, if she had known who they were at the time, she would’ve killed them herself. Instead, she had rescued them, getting pretty torn up in the process. And instead of being grateful for having their asses saved, they had shot her up with drugs and brought her here to their headquarters in Philly.
They might have been bastards, but they weren’t dumb bastards. They had seen the way she had fought, the way she healed.
At first, they had tried to bring her over to their side, even as they were drugging her up to her eyeballs with every combination they could think of.
But Faith had refused. She had seen firsthand how the Monroe Republic operated, and she’d be damned if she went down that road again. She had told President Monroe and First Bitch Matheson as much.
It hadn’t gone over well. Obviously, the prez wasn’t used to hearing ‘no’, let alone ‘go fuck yourself’.
That was when they had brought in Strauss, the sadistic fuck who was currently eyeing her like she was a roast he was about to carve up into little tiny pieces.
Sure enough, a second later, he lashed out quick as a snake, jamming the knife into her thigh.
Faith grunted in pain as the blade bit into her skin.
Shit, the cut was deep, though, thankfully, it looked as though he had missed her femoral artery. Still, both her arms were already slick with blood, with small pools forming on the ground below her. Now her leg was bleeding twice as bad. At this rate, she’d be lucky if she didn’t bleed out by the end of the day.
Then again, maybe that was the plan. Maybe Strauss - and by extension, Monroe - was done fucking around.
Yeah, it looked like she had run out of time. She needed to make her move, whether she was at full strength or not.
Faith squirmed against her restraints, trying her best to ignore the throbbing in her arms. She smiled when she felt one of her hands partially slip through one of the cuffs, thanks to thick coat of blood on her.
“What are you smiling at, bitch?” Strauss snarled as he grabbed her by the hair again.
This time, when their eyes met, she didn’t bother with the act. She stared right back.
That’s when it happened, the moment she was waiting for, when he realized she wasn’t as weak as she seemed, when he looked into her eyes and saw his own death.
And damn, if it didn’t warm Faith’s heart.
With a hiss, Strauss struck again with his blade, this time aiming for her face. At least, he tried to. Before the knife could find its target, Faith kicked out at his arm with her good leg. There was a satisfying crunch as she made contact, the knife flying harmlessly out of his hand. Then, while he was still reeling from that blow, she used the same leg to boot him one right in the groin.
He fell to the ground with wheezing gasp of pain.
Though Faith wanted to take time to appreciate the picture he painted, she knew she had to move quickly. Strauss was too good to let a few kicks slow him down. So she took a deep breath and wrenched her hands free of the cuffs, swearing loudly as she felt a few bones break in the process. Then, using every bit of strength she had, she planted both feet on the ground and pulled until the pole against her back broke in half, ignoring the way her body screamed in pain.
The second the chains hit the ground, Faith was moving. Strauss had already retrieved the knife and was lunging for her, a wild look in his eye.
Faith threw herself to the side, just as the blade of the knife glanced her neck, leaving a shallow slice in its wake.
She barely felt it. She was running on pure adrenaline now. Strauss was a tough son of a bitch, she’d give him that, but he was no match for her, even when she was sporting some nasty cuts.
When he lunged for her again, the knife swinging down at her in a wide arc, she was ready for him. She grabbed him by the wrist and spun around so she had her back against him. At the same time, she yanked down hard on his arm, using his own momentum against him.
He gave a soft gurgle as the knife slid home, buried up to the hilt in his stomach.
Faith wasn’t taking any chances. In one smooth movement, she grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled up until she reached his collarbone, gutting him like a fish.
He dropped to the ground with a wet thud. Then there was complete silence.
As Faith wiped the blade clean on her pants, she finally took a moment to gloat. It was no more than that, though. She knew that this was only the start. She still had a lot to do before she could stop, like get the fuck out of there; because as much as she wanted to go after Matheson and Monroe, she knew now wasn’t the time.
No, she needed to regroup, and as much as it pained her to admit it, she needed help. But she would do it. She would do whatever she had to to take Monroe and Matheson down, along with their whole little Republic, even if it killed her.
And who knew? Maybe along the way, she would figure out why all the power had disappeared from the world on September 17, 2012, and why the fuck it had taken all the magic with it.
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Author: akat
Fandom: Revolution
Rating: R for language and violence
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS or Revolution.
Summary: Faith wasn’t too proud to admit it; being on the receiving end of torture sucked. She would have much rather been the one doling it out, if she wasn’t, you know, ‘reformed’.
Word Count: 1610
A/N: Title of this fic is in reference to, and inspired by, the Imagine Dragons song. As a side note, am I the only one who thinks that most of their songs scream of Faith in some sort of crossover?
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Faith wasn’t too proud to admit it; being on the receiving end of torture sucked. She would have much rather been the one doling it out, if she wasn’t, you know, ‘reformed’.
Of course, the way things were going, she was headed straight for a relapse, one that had Strauss’ name on it. The sick son of a bitch definitely deserved it -- and that was only after hot and blunt. He still had three more to go.
From the looks of it, he was switching it up to sharp today.
It was not a good sign. She hadn’t lost any vital body parts so far, and she wanted to keep it that way. A blade in the hands of a psychopath really hurt her odds.
Faith watched him move out of the corner of her eye, though she made sure her gaze wasn’t too sharp, her movements too alert; same when she tugged experimentally on the chains that bound her to a pole a moment later. And when she realized that they had made a mistake, only binding her from shoulder to waist, probably thinking she was too weak to try anything by now, she swallowed her smile.
She’d be damned if she let on that she was slowly becoming immune to the drug cocktail they were always dosing her with. It was her ace in the hole, her only one.
She had no delusions that someone was going to come charging in to the rescue. The only people who gave a fuck about her were dead for all she knew; she had been on a solo mission in Boston when the Blackout happened, and she had been cut off from everyone ever since.
No, she only had herself to rely on, and slowly but surely, she was getting there. Sometimes, when she and Strauss were in the middle of one of their little sessions, it was the only thing that kept her going; well, that and imagining the look the fucker would have on his face when she finally made her move. Just thinking about it now put her in a good mood, and a smile escaped before she could stop it.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Strauss grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her to look up at him.
Faith quickly coughed to disguise her smirk, trying her best to make it seem like she hadn’t recovered from the day before yet. Sadly, she was pretty damn convincing. Asphyxiation had that effect, especially when paired with a swollen mouth, courtesy of Strauss and his creative dental work.
“Before we begin, I’m supposed to tell you that if you cooperate, all this can stop,” he said.
Faith just moaned in response, letting her eyes glaze over in a kind of drugged confusion.
She saw Strauss grin as he straightened up, letting go of her hair in the process.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Personally, I don’t see the point in asking. You’re lucky if you know your name by now, let alone what you are or where you came from,” he said. Then he raised the knife he was holding and gave her a nasty smile. “Not that I’m complaining. Now, let’s put your freak healing ability to the test.”
Faith jerked involuntarily at the sharp stab of pain she felt in her arm. A second later, she felt the blood pouring out of the cut, right before he did the same to the other arm, though he added a twist this time.
As Strauss stood back to admire his handiwork, his breath hitched a little.
Faith’s hands curled into fists. The sick fuck was getting off on this. She could practically taste his excitement.
Not for the first time, she cursed the day she had crossed paths with Monroe and his pal, Matheson. Fuck, if she had known who they were at the time, she would’ve killed them herself. Instead, she had rescued them, getting pretty torn up in the process. And instead of being grateful for having their asses saved, they had shot her up with drugs and brought her here to their headquarters in Philly.
They might have been bastards, but they weren’t dumb bastards. They had seen the way she had fought, the way she healed.
At first, they had tried to bring her over to their side, even as they were drugging her up to her eyeballs with every combination they could think of.
But Faith had refused. She had seen firsthand how the Monroe Republic operated, and she’d be damned if she went down that road again. She had told President Monroe and First Bitch Matheson as much.
It hadn’t gone over well. Obviously, the prez wasn’t used to hearing ‘no’, let alone ‘go fuck yourself’.
That was when they had brought in Strauss, the sadistic fuck who was currently eyeing her like she was a roast he was about to carve up into little tiny pieces.
Sure enough, a second later, he lashed out quick as a snake, jamming the knife into her thigh.
Faith grunted in pain as the blade bit into her skin.
Shit, the cut was deep, though, thankfully, it looked as though he had missed her femoral artery. Still, both her arms were already slick with blood, with small pools forming on the ground below her. Now her leg was bleeding twice as bad. At this rate, she’d be lucky if she didn’t bleed out by the end of the day.
Then again, maybe that was the plan. Maybe Strauss - and by extension, Monroe - was done fucking around.
Yeah, it looked like she had run out of time. She needed to make her move, whether she was at full strength or not.
Faith squirmed against her restraints, trying her best to ignore the throbbing in her arms. She smiled when she felt one of her hands partially slip through one of the cuffs, thanks to thick coat of blood on her.
“What are you smiling at, bitch?” Strauss snarled as he grabbed her by the hair again.
This time, when their eyes met, she didn’t bother with the act. She stared right back.
That’s when it happened, the moment she was waiting for, when he realized she wasn’t as weak as she seemed, when he looked into her eyes and saw his own death.
And damn, if it didn’t warm Faith’s heart.
With a hiss, Strauss struck again with his blade, this time aiming for her face. At least, he tried to. Before the knife could find its target, Faith kicked out at his arm with her good leg. There was a satisfying crunch as she made contact, the knife flying harmlessly out of his hand. Then, while he was still reeling from that blow, she used the same leg to boot him one right in the groin.
He fell to the ground with wheezing gasp of pain.
Though Faith wanted to take time to appreciate the picture he painted, she knew she had to move quickly. Strauss was too good to let a few kicks slow him down. So she took a deep breath and wrenched her hands free of the cuffs, swearing loudly as she felt a few bones break in the process. Then, using every bit of strength she had, she planted both feet on the ground and pulled until the pole against her back broke in half, ignoring the way her body screamed in pain.
The second the chains hit the ground, Faith was moving. Strauss had already retrieved the knife and was lunging for her, a wild look in his eye.
Faith threw herself to the side, just as the blade of the knife glanced her neck, leaving a shallow slice in its wake.
She barely felt it. She was running on pure adrenaline now. Strauss was a tough son of a bitch, she’d give him that, but he was no match for her, even when she was sporting some nasty cuts.
When he lunged for her again, the knife swinging down at her in a wide arc, she was ready for him. She grabbed him by the wrist and spun around so she had her back against him. At the same time, she yanked down hard on his arm, using his own momentum against him.
He gave a soft gurgle as the knife slid home, buried up to the hilt in his stomach.
Faith wasn’t taking any chances. In one smooth movement, she grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled up until she reached his collarbone, gutting him like a fish.
He dropped to the ground with a wet thud. Then there was complete silence.
As Faith wiped the blade clean on her pants, she finally took a moment to gloat. It was no more than that, though. She knew that this was only the start. She still had a lot to do before she could stop, like get the fuck out of there; because as much as she wanted to go after Matheson and Monroe, she knew now wasn’t the time.
No, she needed to regroup, and as much as it pained her to admit it, she needed help. But she would do it. She would do whatever she had to to take Monroe and Matheson down, along with their whole little Republic, even if it killed her.
And who knew? Maybe along the way, she would figure out why all the power had disappeared from the world on September 17, 2012, and why the fuck it had taken all the magic with it.
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