Goode is Taken Hostage.

Consequences

Third person

"Well, little girl," Picasso, as he liked to be called, hauled Samantha to her feet, "you have been naughty haven't you."She trembled with fear."What are we going to do with you?"

"You're going to leave her be." It was Percy, his voice was rough and splintered, his throat was in terrible condition from his screams, but there was no hint to his fear.

"And why would I do that?"
 Percy shrugged.

"Because I'll make a deal with you." 'Picasso' raised an eyebrow.

"And what, pray tell, little veteran, would you deal with?"
"Anything you want that doesn't extend beyond this room and this encounter." The terrorist seemed to think for a moment.

"Information. Information and permission to deem your life worthless. Give me those and I wont hurt the little girlie." He smiled.

"Fine."
'Picasso' threw Samantha to the ground.

"Well then, lets start." He enforced every word with a blow to the boys legs from a studded, spiked hammer, he pointed to a scar on Percy's side, a curling G which had been carved into his skin. It looked as if the past torturer had carved furrows into Percy, leaving depressions where the letter was clearly visible, "How'd you get this?" The young veteran didn't even have to look to know which scar the madman was referring to.

"Past torturer. Didn't want me to ever forget." His words were definitely clipped now from the pain. He'd has acidic zig-zags cut into his shoulder, his side and other arm cruelly burned, his back torn apart my a whip and now his legs destroyed by a hammer. He'd gone so far as to make Percy swallow acid and to wash his cuts with poisons, it wasn't good at all.

 "And why did this person want to hurt you?" He was now systematically snapping each of Percy's fingers on his left hand, he seemed to favour hurting the boy's left.

"I was the leader in the wars, they were making and example and getting revenge." He inhaled sharply as another one of his fingers snapped, "Even if they lost the war, they still wanted to defeat me." The torturer had casually stabbed Percy in the stomach, across one of his abs, and there was blood leaking out of the corner of Percy mouth. He was swaying in his seat, eyes half closed.

"I think we need to bind this little soldier's wounds." The madman called one of his followers and they wrapped all Percy's injuries in dirty linen. "Aren't you spoiled, little one." Percy didn't seem to hear him. "He hasn't screamed in a while, but he doesn't seem like he can take much more without losing consciousness....I hope I didn't miscalculate. If my canvas dies I don't get any new ink...."

He thought for a moment.

"I know, I'll wake him up then take a break from my astounding art and ask him some questions instead, he does owe me for not hurting the girlie."
So he snapped one of the bones in Percy's shins, it was sticking out through the skin, an open fracture.

"Boy-o, I still have questions." He practically sang.

"Go to Tartarus." Percy didn't have the strength to speak loudly. Samantha dearly hoped the police came in soon.

The terrorist laughed.

"That's the spirit young man. Now, tell me how you got into wars." Percy's laboured breathing was all you could hear as he contemplated his answer.

"My father's family." A ragged intake of breath."They're like  a clan, but-but," Another desperate breath, "my gen...eration and my dad's....they're....against-against the older ones. That leads to fighting and...and then it escalates," he inhaled, trying to gather his strength and stay conscious, "My dad is one of his generation's leaders-they have three leaders-and I'm-I'm the oldest of those three's kids so I was al-always expected t-to b-b-be the-the l-leader." He slumped, resting after he wasted so much effort trying to explain, to appease the mad torturer.

"And how long have you been fighting, little soldier boy?"

"I was twelve." The hall gasped again, but Percy didn't have the strength to comment, to do anything more than he had to.

"When was your first major battle?"

"Err...my first b-big one?....I was about 14 I think." He looked like he would've shrugged if he wasn't holding onto life then and there. "Kinda-kinda lost-lost track over the y-years." He was fading fast.

The students and teachers in the hall were horror-struck, this poor boy, forced to fight for his life at such a young age and put through so much that he was used torture and pain.

"Oh, it looks like our canvas here is running out of time." It was true, Percy was surrounded by a huge pool of crimson and he was deathly pale, without the strength to even keep his eyes open, he was slumped in his chair. The madman had lied,  he'd hurt Percy more while they were talking, but it didn't phase him. Percy was dying. "Oh well, might as well put him out of his misery. Shame we didn't get to hear him beg, such a good little soldier boy."

Just as he raised the knife to finish Percy off in the most painful way possible the doors were thrown open.

"POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!"