Post by Riemman on Jul 20, 2006 23:41:20 GMT -5
((Warning!!! Kind of non-graphic rape, obvious child abuse, etc. Read at your own discretion.))
Saix shivered as he huddled in the corner of his cell. Across from his own five feet by five feet cell he could see the cell of another young gypsy child in the dim light. And he knew that there were more children in the cells next to his and down the hall.
It was cold in the dungeons of the Ryder base, and all they gave to prisoners were tattered clothes that did little to ward off any kind of chill and enough food and water to keep them alive. Starved, but alive. They were let out occasionally, mostly to work, or for the amusement of some of the Ryders. How long had it been? Three winters at least.
The creak of a door and the loud thud of heavy boots on stone floor made him withdraw even more, curling up tighter in his corner, peeking out at the bars with wide purple eyes. Saix's raspy breath caught in his throat as a large, brawny Ryder stopped briefly in front of his cell. When he turned to face him, his heart sank. This one he knew. Too well.
The Ryder made a short hand gesture and the two Ryder trainees at his side quickly opened his cell and dragged him roughly from his corner. A familiar corridor passed by, leading to a familiar room, with a familiar assortment of people waiting in it. Much too familiar.
He was dropped uncaringly on the only piece of furniture in the room besides the chairs some of the Ryders sat in. Saix ignored the splinters digging into his skin from the unfinished surface of the wide table. He'd only have more by the end of the session. His mind was already detaching itself from his body, his eyes blank. He'd learned by now that there was no use in resisting, it only amused them more and made them hurt him more.
"Well, now. We have a new plan for our favorite pet."
That was new.
"What's your name, pet?"
A barely audible murmur.
"Speak up." A growl.
"S-S-Saix." His voice was a nervous tremor. His hands shook and he wanted to curl up again, but knew it would only anger them. The next thing he knew his cheek was pressed against the table, mostly likely scratched up, and his other cheek throbbed from the force of the blow.
"Wrong. From now on, you have no name besides that which we call you. How old are you?"
"Ten winters." Scared.
The Ryders smirked.
"From now on you'll be trained in the ways of the Ryders. You've become our little project, pet. When we're done, you'll be the perfect little puppet. It's doubtful you'll ever become bonded, but then again, you don't need to be. You'll only undergo training because then we can keep you as ours for much, much longer. You won't have to be eliminated then, you see." More smirks, a few lustful grins.
Saix grew cold. More of this? For how long? How long could he survive like this? The bastards would try to keep him as long as they could; he was, after all, their favorite. By making him their "project," they'd probably be able to keep him for at least ten more winters, if not more. Ten more winters, of this? But... but he'd be stronger too, right? They were going to give him training. If they were to declare him their "project" they had to follow through. There were regular inspections after all.
Slowly, a cold kind of hope began to curl in his stomach. If he could survive, grow stronger, maybe even get bonded, then he could escape. And until then, he'd endure.
"Now, pet, since we're doing you such a favor, it's only fair you reciprocate, right?" Lecherous grins.
The fear returned, but he forced himself to relax, even as they approached. It hurt less if he was relaxed, he'd found. Still hurt, but more bearable.
The long, tattered shirt he wore - the only thing he wore - didn't provide much protection as it was pushed aside. Cold, calloused hands pushed him open painfully, and hot sears ripped through his body as he was entered roughly. He grit his teeth and refused to cry out, even as his eyes watered and his vision began to swim.
When the blur of faceless leers and tearing thrusts ended, he was once again bodily dragged through the same familiar corridor to the same familiar dungeon, and tossed into the same familiar cell. As usual, he painfully dragged himself back to his little corner, once again curling up. His shirt was again being soaked with blood and the fluids of the Ryders' cruel enjoyment. Just more stains atop stains.
But Saix's eyes burned. They'd unknowingly given him a way out. They thought him broken, and maybe in some ways he was. But no matter how long it took, no matter how long he had to suffer. He'd endure. And once he got out he'd get revenge.
Revenge, after all, is a dish best served cold.
Saix shivered as he huddled in the corner of his cell. Across from his own five feet by five feet cell he could see the cell of another young gypsy child in the dim light. And he knew that there were more children in the cells next to his and down the hall.
It was cold in the dungeons of the Ryder base, and all they gave to prisoners were tattered clothes that did little to ward off any kind of chill and enough food and water to keep them alive. Starved, but alive. They were let out occasionally, mostly to work, or for the amusement of some of the Ryders. How long had it been? Three winters at least.
The creak of a door and the loud thud of heavy boots on stone floor made him withdraw even more, curling up tighter in his corner, peeking out at the bars with wide purple eyes. Saix's raspy breath caught in his throat as a large, brawny Ryder stopped briefly in front of his cell. When he turned to face him, his heart sank. This one he knew. Too well.
The Ryder made a short hand gesture and the two Ryder trainees at his side quickly opened his cell and dragged him roughly from his corner. A familiar corridor passed by, leading to a familiar room, with a familiar assortment of people waiting in it. Much too familiar.
He was dropped uncaringly on the only piece of furniture in the room besides the chairs some of the Ryders sat in. Saix ignored the splinters digging into his skin from the unfinished surface of the wide table. He'd only have more by the end of the session. His mind was already detaching itself from his body, his eyes blank. He'd learned by now that there was no use in resisting, it only amused them more and made them hurt him more.
"Well, now. We have a new plan for our favorite pet."
That was new.
"What's your name, pet?"
A barely audible murmur.
"Speak up." A growl.
"S-S-Saix." His voice was a nervous tremor. His hands shook and he wanted to curl up again, but knew it would only anger them. The next thing he knew his cheek was pressed against the table, mostly likely scratched up, and his other cheek throbbed from the force of the blow.
"Wrong. From now on, you have no name besides that which we call you. How old are you?"
"Ten winters." Scared.
The Ryders smirked.
"From now on you'll be trained in the ways of the Ryders. You've become our little project, pet. When we're done, you'll be the perfect little puppet. It's doubtful you'll ever become bonded, but then again, you don't need to be. You'll only undergo training because then we can keep you as ours for much, much longer. You won't have to be eliminated then, you see." More smirks, a few lustful grins.
Saix grew cold. More of this? For how long? How long could he survive like this? The bastards would try to keep him as long as they could; he was, after all, their favorite. By making him their "project," they'd probably be able to keep him for at least ten more winters, if not more. Ten more winters, of this? But... but he'd be stronger too, right? They were going to give him training. If they were to declare him their "project" they had to follow through. There were regular inspections after all.
Slowly, a cold kind of hope began to curl in his stomach. If he could survive, grow stronger, maybe even get bonded, then he could escape. And until then, he'd endure.
"Now, pet, since we're doing you such a favor, it's only fair you reciprocate, right?" Lecherous grins.
The fear returned, but he forced himself to relax, even as they approached. It hurt less if he was relaxed, he'd found. Still hurt, but more bearable.
The long, tattered shirt he wore - the only thing he wore - didn't provide much protection as it was pushed aside. Cold, calloused hands pushed him open painfully, and hot sears ripped through his body as he was entered roughly. He grit his teeth and refused to cry out, even as his eyes watered and his vision began to swim.
When the blur of faceless leers and tearing thrusts ended, he was once again bodily dragged through the same familiar corridor to the same familiar dungeon, and tossed into the same familiar cell. As usual, he painfully dragged himself back to his little corner, once again curling up. His shirt was again being soaked with blood and the fluids of the Ryders' cruel enjoyment. Just more stains atop stains.
But Saix's eyes burned. They'd unknowingly given him a way out. They thought him broken, and maybe in some ways he was. But no matter how long it took, no matter how long he had to suffer. He'd endure. And once he got out he'd get revenge.
Revenge, after all, is a dish best served cold.
