David wasn't trained in resisting torture...the screams came hard and heavy...he repeated what he had said before for it was truly all he knew.They asked him questions as they hit him, questions he couldn't answer. By the time they stopped, David was barely with it, seeing the world alternately through a black or a red haze depending on his level of consciousness at the moment. One eye was swollen shut, his lip was split and bleeding down his chin. At least two ribs were cracked, maybe broken, and one wrist was certainly shattered - he'd done that himself as he tried to pull his hands away from the arms of the chair.
He heard the door open, but the sound seemed so far away.
"He won't talk," said one of the men who'd assaulted him.
"Then clean him up and put some clothes on him," said the woman's voice from earlier. "He gets the Box tomorrow if he doesn't spill it by tonight."
"What if he really doesn't know?" asked the man's voice. It seemed to be drifting away.
"Do you really believe that?" asked the other man.
"No," replied the first. "I mean, he is a captain after all. They know everything. Why else would he be here?"
"Exactly," said the woman. "Clean him up."
"Do you think he'll survive the Box?" asked the second man.
"Well, if he doesn't," replied the woman, "at least we won't have to worry about feeding him."
He felt the shackles being released, but the agony of being lifted by his broken wrist took him over the edge into blackness.
When he awoke, he was back in a cell on the floor, but not bound at all. He was wearing clothes, his wrist was immobile, and there was a cold pack on his face, over his eye. The floor was cold, but he could move his body for the first time in what he thought was two days. It ached with sore, stiff muscles. His ribs hurt, and it hurt to breathe, but his ribs were bound tightly to keep them from moving too much and puncturing a lung.
(Rsp)
There was a bucket with water in it not too far away, and a blanket slipped off him as he moved. Beneath him was straw - not enough to keep warm, but compared to the stone floor, was not as bad as it could have been. It was similar to the cell he'd been in before, stone walls, no windows, only a wooden door with a small barred square cut in it. The outfit he had on was a jumpsuit similar to some he'd seen on the rebel fighters; it was probably whatever they'd had around. It was a little baggy, but given the swollenness of his body, that might not be a bad thing.
(Rsp)
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