In Chains and Shadows || Heehoon

Breaking Chains

The darkness in the basement felt endless. Every corner seemed to whisper with secrets, every shadow held the weight of Sunghoon's exhaustion. He had lost count of the days—whether it had been one, three, or more, he no longer knew. The only way he marked the time was by the gaps between the torturous visits from Heeseung's men, who entered with hollow smiles, taunts, and an arsenal of torment he never thought he would endure.

The first day, they'd restrained his hands and tied him to the chair, watching as he writhed and cursed, his mind still sharp and defiant. When he refused to answer their questions, their fists met his body in a rhythm as relentless as a drumbeat, each blow sapping a little more of his strength. At first, he tried to twist away, tried to summon every ounce of resolve to meet their stares without breaking. But their hands were merciless, pushing him past his limits, and soon his body surrendered to the numbness that washed over him.

After each session, they left him alone in the darkness, his breath ragged and his body trembling. Silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the faint echoes of their footsteps as they retreated. In that silence, the pain grew louder, becoming something he could no longer push away. His bruises throbbed in time with his heartbeat, each thump a cruel reminder of his captivity.

Hunger gnawed at him, a relentless ache that hollowed out his insides, and the parched dryness in his throat turned his own breaths into sandpaper. Hours would pass, stretching on like years, as he waited for any sound—dreading it, yet feeling an odd relief whenever it arrived. He'd begun to fear the silence more than their footsteps, as if the emptiness would eventually swallow him whole.

In the midst of the silence, he found himself clinging to small memories: the sound of laughter from his friends, the warmth of sunlight on his face, the scent of freedom. He clutched onto them desperately, drawing strength from these fragments of normalcy, willing himself not to break, even as exhaustion made his limbs feel like lead.

Each time they returned, their methods changed. Some days it was the hunger and silence; other times, it was a relentless barrage of questions about things he knew nothing of, accusations that he could barely follow through the haze of his fading consciousness. He learned to recognize the look in their eyes as they circled him, the way their smirks grew crueler with each unanswered question. They mocked his silence, taunted him with promises of mercy that he knew were lies.

But Sunghoon had resolved, in the depths of his suffering, that he would not give them the satisfaction. His captors were relentless, but so was his will. No matter how weak he became, he would not let himself be reduced to begging. It was the only control he had left—the only rebellion he could still cling to.

-

When Heeseung finally entered the room, he moved with the cold assurance of someone who believed he was doing what was necessary. To him, this was just another step in his mission, another enemy to break. But the sight of Sunghoon—barely able to sit upright, his face bruised, his gaze hollow—made something flicker in Heeseung's chest, though he quickly pushed it aside.

He approached with his typical detachment, his eyes scanning Sunghoon, noting the bruises and cuts with a critical eye. This was routine; he'd seen prisoners like this before, seen men crumble under less. But something about this felt different. Sunghoon's silence wasn't born of fear. No, there was something else in his eyes—something he hadn't anticipated.

"Tell me who you are," Heeseung's voice was low, devoid of warmth or empathy, as he leaned closer, searching Sunghoon's gaze for any signs of submission. Heeseung's stare was calculating, expecting the usual reaction of fear or desperation. Instead, he saw only exhaustion and a quiet defiance, something that seemed to defy every ounce of punishment he'd endured.