Decoded Cipher(Adler x Bell!Reader)

Decoded Cipher

Cipher:
•a secret or disguised way of writing; a code.

•a person or thing of no importance, especially a person who does the bidding of others and seems to have no will of their own.

•a continuous sounding of an organ pipe, caused by a mechanical defect.

✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪

The door slammed close, and that's all the reprieve Adler will get until they come back as he sat hunched over in the stiff metal chair with straps on his wrists and ankles. His head bowed to the ground, eyes in a daze as he attempted to recover his breath and make his ears stop ringing—only to spit.

The spit mixed in with the red that was already upon the dark dank room that had no light except for the sliver that came from under the only door to this small room. He knows there's blood around him, because that's all they've gotten out of him so far. Blood and spit and vomit. The cut to his head hurts like a bitch though, he believes it's a cut. They barely gave him any anesthetic during the procedure and afterwords, no thanks to Stitch no doubt.

He just hopes the shitty doctor at least cleaned it right. Infection would be a bad way to go.

Adler's eyes blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness once more. An action he's accustomed to by now due to all the time he's been here. How long?

Who fucking knows.

Frankly, he doesn't care either. All he knows the second one of Stitch's goons will make a mistake he'll grab that needle and stab them into the neck, choke the life out of them and feel in his hands as they go and to do the same to Stitch. Slow. Adler idly wonders if he can see the life go out of someone who has a blind eye.

He'll just put his focus on the one Stitch has left. Maybe, he can have Stitch's other eye as well. Cut it open and out, the hold of his knife not slipping no matter how much blood and red will spurt out in him and his face. He can practically hear the Russian curse in his mind at the audacity, the sick and twisted ness of it to steal his sight fully and the last thing he saw was Russell Adler over him.

Adler's lips twitched as he released a short breath that was equal to a chuckle for now. He winced but he took a steadying breath as his head stayed bowed, closing his eyes and unintentionally focusing on the way the faucet dropped a single drop of water. It echoing around him within the silence.

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.

Adler shifted his feet as best he could in the restraints, jaw ticking twice before he opened his eyes again.

Damn Red's know how to torture, he thought, licking his dry parched lips that are barely given respite to keep him dehydrated. Instead connected to the IV next to him for a small bout of fluids that Adler knows isn't enough because he still feels weak. He might fall over if he stood too quick if he did get out of the restraints. But he couldn't think much on that. Just on the water. The faucet. It dripped. It dropped. As it always has been. Adler's ears began to ring as he slightly turned his neck towards the sound. The drip. The drop. It would pause. For one, two, three, four second—this is getting long—Drop—and there it is again. Fucking waiting for when it drops and going mad when it takes too long.

At least they haven't done the Chinese water torture again. Adler thought he was going insane.

The bucket over his head, a drop coming on his face, his head, his shoulder—all random and always cold. The room here is already fucking freezing just like their homeland but somehow the water was colder. And it dripped. And it dropped. The coldness jarring, hitting his skin due to him only having a dirty browned with blood wife beater, his pants being the warmest thing on his body. And the waiting for it to happen again. Will he get to recover for a bit longer before it fell on him again? Will it miss and hit the floor? Why is he still fucking thinking about it?