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Date Posted: 22:38:03 02/02/06 Thu
Author: Kyrian
Subject:
I'm not supposed to be scared of anything, but I don't know where I am
I wish that I could move, but I'm exhausted and nobody understands (how I feel)
I'm trying hard to breathe now, but there's no air in my lungs
There's no one here to talk to and the pain inside is making me numb
I try to hold this under control
They can't help me cause no one knows..

How I'm going through changes, changes
God, I feel so frustrated, lateley
When I get suffocated, save me..
Now I'm fallen apart, now I feel it..


(He had left for Montana that night, leaving Haylie with only his cellphone number and a note that read 'Keep her safe'. He had no right to tell her how he felt, or how badly he'd wanted to stay with her.. but he didn't need the liability of his emotions in the field. He had followed the lead up into the mountains, spent a day tracking the people he was here to find until he'd gotten a man drunk enough to lose some vital information to him about the hideout he was trying to locate. Now, armed with knowledge and a powerful handgun, he'd spent another day and a half traipsing through the woods in black and grey camo, his dark hair covered with a matching bandana and black contacts in his eyes to stop the reflection of a sniper rifle against his corneas should someone try and spot him long range. He had been laying on his belly just outside the perimeter fence when he heard footsteps and stilled, the only sound being the beating of his heart. He knew he had made a mistake, something had brouht this man out of nowhere, but what? Then he almost groaned when he realized that his knife, sheathed to his calf, had become uncoved as he crawled and his pantleg became caught and sliced open by the sharp blade. He had been so intuned on his sneaking that he hadn't noticed the way it had cut his skin and blood was trickling down his legs. The dog that was padding along side the man had caught his scent and was leading the man right to him. He sighted the AK-47 in the man's hands and nearly groaned again.. he was a fast runner but fast enough with a bloodied ankle to outrun a well armed soviet. Why were there always soviets or nazis in places like this? He smirked at his thought just as he ducked out of sight and thought he was safe, until the dog's jaws had clamped down on the nape of his neck and brought a cry from him. The man called other men down, and he was harshly hauled to his feet. He refused to give his name and was slapped harshly. The two men who joined the first man took him by the arms and held him as he shook the stars from his eyes to focus on the man with the dog. Again he was asked for his name, and this time he spit in the other man's face and was kicked in the knee so hard he thought it was probably out of joint if not broken. As he went down on his other knee, the men held him dangling and one pulled his head back by the hair. His eyes flashed even behind the contacts as he eyed the other man, his teeth bared in an animalistic manner. The next blow he received for not answering the men was a rifle butt to the back of the head that had him hanging limply from the two men's arms and then unceremoniously dragged inside....

....he woke on the floor in a room that was oddly well lit for having but one window, and as he looked around he realized they had removed his contacts because the lights were brighter and made his head ache desperately from the knot at the back of his head. He noted three men in the room, though within moments of his consciousness, the largest men barked an order and was left alone for a moment with him. Again he was asked his name, though in Italian, and the fact that the man used another language confused him. He shook his head and was roughly punched in the jaw for his trouble. The man threatened him with torture and still he remained firm, so it was but forty minutes after his capture that he found himself being dragged to his feet and shackled to the wall of the room when a man that was large enough to have been Remy's twin entered the room. The man looked brutal, the sort of uncaring person who was capable of torturing a man until he died. His captor left him alone with the big man, who grinned a smile of chipped teeth at him. He groaned, just his luck.. he was going to die at the hands of a man who belonged in some parody film about giants with pain fetished. He leaned his head back against the wall, and realized that he wasn't near the wall, but in the middle of the room.. where the man could apparently access any part of him that he liked.. and one part in particular cringed at the thought....

....Close to an hour later, he was still shackled in the room, only he as hanging a bit from the wrists now that his knees were weak from the pain. The man was damn well taking his time, and through the searing pain he had to admit the guy knew what he was doing and was doing it well. Had he been a lesser man he would have chirped like a canary hours ago just to get shot and get it over with. The man had broken three of his fingers, just to prove he was worth his salt as a torture 'artist', and Kyrian had smugly replied afterwards that he was a pretty poor artist if he thought he would give up any information to the enemy. Apparently, this wasn't the proper thing to say because he'd woken up a few minutes later from a sharp blow to the head to look into those beady grey eyes. Now as he hung there, he assessed the damage to his body and the chance of his escape. He had several burn wounds to his torso, though his back was the worst. The man had used a cordless sander on his back to remove the skin before he'd poured acid over the wounds, letting the liquid eat away at the torn and bloodied flesh until he'd thought for sure he would pass out from the pain. But he had gritted his teeth and closed his eyes and taken the pain with the knowledge that he was keeping Haylie, Shay and Remy safe. His left shoulder and right hip had deep, gaping stab wounds that were still bleeding slowly and he knew he had less than an hour before he would pass out from bloodloss. Combine that with the severe beating he'd taken, the bloodied lip, the black eyes, the swollen jaw.. all of it was making for a pretty worst case scenario for him. He groaned as the big man kicked his other knee out from under him.) You know, if I were you I would just give up. (He said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, the pain was fatiguing and he was wearing thin.. he just wanted to die and get it over with. He almost wept with joy when the big man left the room and the smirking son of a bitch with the italian accent came back. He had a gun in his hand and looked like a ticket out of this hellhole.. it was just too bad he wouldn't have the chance to say goodbye to Haylie. He closed his eyes to think of her as he heard the trigger cock on the gun and the sadistic laugh of his captor. He could see her eyes as he made love to her, hear her laugh softly at his words and then he had focused in on feeling her hold him, so that he wouldn't be alone when it happened. He realized then as his weary heart kicked up that he'd fallen for her. His eyes opened to see the gun lifting to point at his head... This is it.. He thought, and closed his eyes again, willing his thoughts of Haylie back.. she was brushing his hair back from his bloodied brow and whispering that it was alright.. everything would be alright because she loved him too and he wouldn't be alone when he died. He could hear the trigger as the man squeezed it, and the lines around his face deepened as his body tensed for the blow... )

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