Doctor He Calls Master

Day 2: 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙏𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

Being left alone was just as bad as being tortured by the man himself. All night, Derek was ready for an attack. Ready for something to hurt him when his eyes couldn't warn him. Training had taught him to view darkness as just as much an ally as it was the enemy. The reason why he couldn't get any real rest other than when his body forced itself to shut down only a few hours before the door opened again.

Greyson arrived wearing a gray button up shirt and black vest along with black dress pants. Again he rolled up his sleeves and slipped on his leather gloves. The same two men from their previous session accompanied him and entered the room hauling in equipment. A tripod being one of them.

The light felt too bright as Derek winced and turned his head towards his arm to try and get away from it. During the night, he had every intention to try and get out of these bonds, but hours felt like seconds in his mind and even now it didn't feel like morning. He had no way to judge time or to know what could be on the other side of that door. He could be dead the second he walked out.

"Gooood morning," Greyosn chimed as he strut towards the water hose and unwound all of its line off the wall, turning the faucet until it was maxed out and unleashed harsh cold water onto Derek, letting it run continuously as he circled around him at least one time, drenching him from hands to his toes and everything in-between without missing an inch of him.

"F-uck" he gasped at the cold water. His aching body tensing up as he closed his eyes and braced himself before looking back to the other. His eyes were wide open now, fully awake and as ready for the new day as anyone can be.

"I spoke to my boss about your request." Greyson tossed the hose to the floor and set his hands on his hips, planting himself in front of Derek, eyeing him with admiration of the black and purple bruises, a work of art he could have been proud of that was done by his own hands.

One of the men placed what looked like a plastic milk jug on the mobile tray, but its contents appeared to be distasteful off white. Like sour milk. The other set up a camera, extending the legs out of the tripod and positioned it to face Derek behind Greyson.

"I have good and bad news. The good news: he thinks you're a comedian. You gave him a good laugh. The bad news," Greyson gestured back towards the foot soldiers behind him that were finishing their set up of a cheap foldable table against the wall that contained a few of Greyson's belongings contained in a black bag, "you have to meet a certain criteria to be a part of the family... If you catch my drift." Derek clearly was American.

The two men in unison pulled out of their pockets black ski masks which they partially placed atop of their heads, but didn't bring them down to cover their faces just yet.

Now soaking wet, Derek shivered in the cold room while watching Greyson's gestures. His eyes still had a hard time focusing as he tried to see what the men were setting on the table. Though no matter what it was, it couldn't be good. The masks themselves were just as much a tale sign.

Greyson fished out Derek's wallet from his pocket, tore off the leather gloves and tossed them onto the tray. Afterwards, he removed Derek's license out of his wallet and tossed the remainder onto the tray.

"He asked that I give you special treatment instead." Greyson went and turned on the camera, showing Derek's license to the lense and held it there so the camera focused on the information before he walked backwards and returned the license to the tray. "I call this insurance."

Greyson picked up the jug and opened the top, the odor so repulsive, his head recoiled and he didn't even have it anywhere near his nostrils. He walked up to Derek and passed the opening beneath his nostrils.

From a distance Derek couldn't smell it and part of him hoped his nose was broken so he wouldn't be able to have the same reaction.

But he was wrong.