Rebel Born [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 8: Strength and Weakness

How long have I been stuck here for? What is going on outside? Questions bombarded my head whenever I was awake. My arms and legs were covered in bandages and my clothes were splattered with blood.

Everyday, Dillon would come and have his "play time" which usually consisted of knives, kicking, and electrocution. He has no creativity with torture either. I thought wryly. Same old thing each time.

Someone different always came to bandage my wounds after. It was a different member each time. So far, each of the other members has come to fix me up. But the numbers don't add up. If I remember correctly, there were six people in Syndicate 42 including Dillon. But only four people routinely came by to patch me up. Does that person have special privileges? Or is it something else?

I released my pent up frustration in a loud sigh. I can't do anything. I can't move. I'm aching. I'm exhausted. I've lost so much blood. How the hell am I even still alive?

The shrieking noise of the door opening came. Torture time. Dillon walked in with a smirk and knives in his hand. Again? I looked at his approaching figure with half opened eyes. I don't care anymore.

I didn't even notice when the first knife flew at me, striking my arm. It sliced past my skin before hitting the wall behind.

Dillon gave an exaggerated sigh. "Why won't you just cooperate with me here? Your reactions are so boring."

I scoffed. "I'm covered in bandages. I have no energy left. Just kill me already."

"Hmm... nah. At least, not right now. We'll kill off your friend first before it's your turn. Although, he isn't that far from death." Dillon ended with a proud, sadistic grin.

I stopped short. Hugh. All this time I had been too focused on myself that I had forgotten that Hugh was in the same predicament as me. I need to get out of here!

"We'll kill him off faster if I'm in a bad mood after play time! So make it interesting!" Dillon said as he threw another knife. It was aimed directly at my face. I moved my face instinctively to the side to dodge the knife. It slit my ear slightly before wedging into the wall.

Next moment, Dillon was in front of me, kicking his foot into the other side of my head. I knocked onto the hilt of the knife, which slipped out of the wall fell onto the floor behind me. Blood pooled into my mouth and I spit it out unceremoniously, a metallic taste still on my tongue. I felt some blood trickle from my mouth down to my chin.

"You can do better than that!" Dillon nearly squealed before his heel dug into my stomach. I let out a strangled cry and heaved out nothing. I haven't eaten in days.

I breathed in and out heavily before my air pipe was constricted by Dillon's hand wrapping around my neck, pushing me back and strangled me. I gagged and tried to force my limbs to move. To push him away, make him loosen his grip. Can't breathe...

Dillon wrapped his hand around my throat even tighter before throwing me onto the floor and releasing me. I started coughing hacking and wheezing, trying to get air back into my lungs. Tears pooled in my eyes and blurred my vision. All the sounds surrounding me mixed into one but was drowned out by the sound of the thumping of my heartbeat.

Dillon said something but his voice was mixed together with the sound of my heavy breathing. The sound of the door to the room closing reached my brain and I understood that he had left. I try to calm down my wheezing. I tried to move my arms and reach for my neck. They twitched slightly and shakily began to follow my orders, only to stop short not even halfway through.

I relaxed my body and stayed in the position I was in and retreated into sleep. The sound of the door opening again woke me. The sound of wheels squealing as a cart was wheeled into the room told me that it wasn't Dillon, but one of his lackey's coming to fix me up.