Content warning: themes of Sexual Assault/ R@pe Swearing, gore. If you find any of these issues uncomfortable, please skip this chapter.
Date: February 17th, 2011 - Somewhere in Europe
Date 2: June 5th, 2016-17 (I'm rlly bad with numbers sorry) - America
P.S, this is kind of a long one. (3000+ words😀)
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The waning moon shone like a beacon of light through one filthy basement window, casting the door Mike had just come from in a sinister silver. The light acted as a walkway in a room of darkness.
Slung over Mike's broad and meaty shoulders, was a little boy.
Covered head to toe in bruises and cuts, the boy was a horrifying sight. Blood dripped from any and every place. It dried in the boy's already matted blonde hair. It sat snug under his broken fingernails.
A dark, reddening ring circling his neck was almost as distinct as the boys arctic eyes, which, at the moment, were closed.
"Finally finished with him?" Said a lanky man across the fluorescent-lit room.
Mike chortled. "Oh, don't act like you won't take that long on him, Fred." He dropped the boy carelessly onto the only crusty beige sofa in the warehouse.
"Yeah, yeah. How'd it go?" Freddie asked, ambling over to the sofa. "How it usually goes," Said mike in a raspy voice. "barely complained. Kid's got the smoothest skin I ever felt. He doesn't bleed easily anymore though, I had to use special equipment for that."
"What do you mean, 'special equipment?'" Freddie said, furrowing his unkempt, thick brows.
"Oh, you know. I'm still not entirely sure what breed he is. May be part Veelah, with the beauty he's got. He's definitely got some sort'o brute in his family; he's got some tough skin. Hard to make bleed. I had to use the malonadium." Mike explained to Freddie. The floors and walls creaked with age around them, the only other noise around other than the faint buzzing of the lights above them.
Fred furrowed his brows suspiciously, but shrugged it off. "He'll be fun to break. I'll take'm now." He moved in front of the sofa. "wonder what made his skin more thick?" He added as he hauled the boy over his shoulder.
"One more thing, before you get him. He's got a spot on his back that's pretty dark, looks like a big birthmark or scar. I've never noticed it before, it must've just showed up. He's fragile around there. Do what you will with that, but don't be too rough around there. Might kill the kid." He said, stepping away from Freddie.
"Hey, mike?" Fred asked as he crossed the room towards the set of industrial stairs. "That new popsy come in yet?" "Oh, yeah. The boys are bringing her in now."
As if on cue, a loud bang sounded on the wide door of the warehouse. The door opened, and two men came in. Between them, a girl in her late teens was half pushed, half dragged forward. Mike whistled a sickening tune in admiration.
"Put her in the cage," he grinned, flashing teeth that had seen better days. The "cage" was what he called the den of a room full of horrible objects and devices.
Fred watched, amused, as the three men chortled and mocked the girl. She didn't fight back when one of the men pulling her ran his hands down her back, nor when the other pulled on her chains, nor when he kissed her cheek. She didn't even cry as Mike caught up to the two and told her exactly what he wanted to do with her.
His plans, however, were halted when Fred spoke. "Oh, bloody hell. He's awake." Mike turned back to look at the boy and him. He was right. The boy's bloodshot eyes were open, the arctic blue peaking out from behind his lashes.
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