To the end

07

The Beast Returns?

That night, Vegas sat alone in the dimly lit basement. His wrists were still bruised from the chains, and his body ached from the years of mistreatment. His once athletic form had deteriorated; he was now skinny, pale, and weak. Yet, he wasn’t broken—not yet.

In the far corner, he could hear the muffled voices of the guards discussing something important. They were always talking, always scheming. This time, though, they needed him.

The guards approached him, one of them holding a stack of papers. Without looking at him, they tossed the documents onto the floor in front of him.

“You’re gonna make this presentation perfect,” one of them sneered. “Get it right, and you might get some real food this time.”

Vegas didn't flinch. His hands trembled as he picked up the papers, skimming through them. It was a business deal they wanted him to prepare for other groups. If he did it well, they’d reward him. That was always the promise. But the rewards were nothing compared to the torment he faced daily.

The food... if it could even be called that. He could still taste the rotting, cold meals they shoved in front of him. They didn’t care if it was edible. The smell alone made his stomach turn, and many times he had found himself vomiting after trying to force it down. He hadn’t had a proper, warm meal in what felt like years. They served him food in a dirty, dog bowl—another insult to his humanity.

Sometimes, the food was so rancid that he couldn’t eat at all. His body was starving, but the mere sight and smell of the disgusting meals made him retch. His stomach had grown used to the emptiness, but the hunger gnawed at him constantly. It was a cruel game they played, one designed to strip him of every last shred of dignity.

The guards noticed his hesitation, one of them kicking the leg of his chair. "Do it. You know what happens if you don’t."

Vegas clenched his teeth, swallowing the anger and humiliation that boiled inside him. He had no choice. He had to survive. As much as he wanted to defy them, to scream and fight, he knew it wouldn’t change a thing. They held all the power here.

“I’ll do it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

The guard chuckled, satisfied. “Good. Maybe we’ll give you something fresh this time. If you're lucky.”

Vegas glanced at the papers again, his mind already working through the numbers and figures. It was something to focus on, something to keep him from falling deeper into the pit of despair. But as he worked, his mind kept wandering to the past—to Kim, to his family, to the life he had lost.

The more he thought about them, the more his heart ached. He didn’t know if they thought he was dead, or if they even cared about him anymore. All he knew was that he was trapped in this hell, and no one was coming to save him.

Hours passed as he worked on the reports, his stomach growling in protest. The hunger was unbearable, but he pushed through, forcing his mind to focus on the task. When he finished, he placed the papers back on the floor and leaned against the cold, hard wall.

He was too exhausted to even lie down. His body was shutting down, the lack of food and proper care taking its toll. But despite everything, his spirit wasn’t completely broken. Not yet.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the smell of the rotting food that lingered in the air. His thoughts drifted back to Kim, to the promises they had made to each other, to the love they had once shared.

“Maybe in another life,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. “Maybe in another life, we would have done all the things we said we would. Maybe that’s where we found happiness.”