Call of Desire

34. Rage

rage
/rāj/
noun
an instance of aggressive behaviour or violent anger caused by a stressful or frustrating situation.

====================================================

Content Warning: Extreme Gore, Graphic Descriptions, Violent Death

====================================================

Consciousness was unwillingly forced upon Simon. Pain flared throughout his entire body.

He groaned, fidgeting. It felt like his gut was on fire. Forcing his eyes open, he took in his surroundings. A well-lit room, one exit. One window.

Glancing at his arm, he discovered an IV giving him a blood transfusion. He looked down, realising had been stripped of all of his weapons and outerwear, leaving him in just a t-shirt and jeans. His mask was gone.

Am I back in London?

Looking out the window, he watched the snow for a moment.

No. No, not London. Then where?

It was at that moment he noticed the man zip-tied to a chair, hunched over. Blood spattered the floor, and a bloodstained knife was thrown in the corner.

Fuck. What happened here?

Wait... I know those muscles... and that stupid mohawk...

"Johnny?" he muttered, praying he was wrong.

The bloodstained Scotsman slowly straightened in his chair, revealing numerous injuries that Simon wasn't able to see beforehand.

"Are you real?" The Scotsman muttered, dazed.

"Yes, Johnny, I'm-" he tried to sit up, only to realise his hands were zip-tied to the railings of the hospital bed.

John's face was bruised, and his bottom lip split open. His chest, littered with old and new cuts alike, rose and fell shakily as he breathed. He had a black eye, and numerous bandages covered his body.

"W-What have they done to you?" Ghost stammered, looking on in horror.

"It's so good to hear your voice." John smiled painfully.

Simon's eyes darted over his lover again. "How long have we been here..?"

"Three days? Four?" Exhaling, John muttered. "I don't know. Price said he'd come for us but..."

"But?"

"I've seen and heard nothing."

Both men were cut off by a medic entering the room.

"Ah, you're awake!" he smiled, looking over at Ghost.

John returned his gaze to the floor, greeting him. "Hey, Sergei,"

"Hello, John," Sergei responded, gathering supplies from around the room.

"Who the fuck are you?" Simon growled, glaring at the young man.

"It's Sergei," John muttered, "he patched you up."

"Nice to finally meet you," The Russian smiled softly before tending to John's wounds. Watching as he stitched John's lip back together, Simon how gently Sergei handled his lover. "Do you want some painkillers, John?"

"That would be greatly appreciated." the Scotsman muttered.

"Simon?" Sergei turned to the Brit.

He knows my name. "What?"