Dylan you idiot

The kitchen

"GRIN!!!" Dylan pleaded. "GRIN ILL DO ANYTHING!!!"

I did not reply. He'd layed there on the third day and cried. Holding his stomach sobbing and begging for food or water. Begging for us to let him out. Begging. pleading. Crying. At one point he was screaming at us calling us the Devils helpers.

   I entered the room. The three days is up. Come with me. He complied and followed. I held my arm out to him so he's have something to steady himself with and when he refused I took my knife and cut off one of his fingers.

"Do what I say."

"Y-y-yes ma'am," he cried.

We went into Lilly's favorite room next, the kitchen. This is where we took a type of serum that enduces  fear. Like tracker jacker venom from the hunger games. But a little less lethal. We inject it into your eye so the pain and fear causes a type of torture so when Lilly takes a meat cleaver and cuts off three of your fingers and two of your toes it's the most horrifying pain you've ever faced in your life. Then we leave you there. On the table. In the cold bright room bleeding and screaming in fear. Watching the people you love die. Watching your worst nightmares come true. For two days.