The Assassin's Assassin

IX

AN: Warning, descriptive mentions of torture, this chapter is not for the faint hearted (Oh come on you had to know this was coming) 

This time instead of being bound to a bed, a cold metal, what I can only assume to be, a torture table wearing only underwear, is my situation. From an unknown direction, two people come into view, Rye and another guy pushing a trolley with a variety of tools designed, I imagine to cause maximum pain to a person as possible without killing them.

"I didn't make it, well shit." I croak out comically,

"Nope, you're still kicking, well, still alive, at least, even then, only for now." Rye replies arms crossed, a bandage on the arm I shot. He and the other guy walk right up to me,

"How's the arm?" I sneer with a smirk, the other guy punches my stomach. I wince grunting in pain

"Steady on Jack, let her have her say, not like she can do anything to get herself out of here." Rye soothes who I guess is Jack,

"I don't like her tone." Jack grumbles,

"I don't like yours." I interrupt biting my lip,

"I suggest you save your breath, 'Kath'." Rye advises doing hand quotations,

"I haven't been broken yet, 'Rye'." I bite back mocking him.

"Jack, she's all yours, unless, you feel like talking now." Rye offers,

"You can scour my cold dead brain for whatever scrap of info you can scrape out, which is impossible." I jeer snidely,

"Creative, I like it, almost makes me feel bad for giving the order to destroy that unique feature.  Oh well, Jack, just keep her alive." Rye sighs before stepping back and sitting on a chair and pulls out a notepad and pen. Jack shoves a gag in my mouth and the session begins.

I swear I died at some point because the next several hours could only be described as well, hell. Even with the gag I manage to somehow scream myself hoarse along with completely emptying my tear ducts. Cuts and burns covered my body with salt rubbed in to emphasise the pain. At least three times doctors and nurses had to be brought in to prevent me from passing out.  One time even to revive me which I don't know whether to be grateful for or not. All I can do is pant in pain, eyes squeezed shut as pretty much every nerve in my body burns with pain desperately crying out for any sort of assistance.  But I refuse, I know what will free me and I refuse to do it, I won't tell them diddley squat, not names, not locations, not codes, a big steamy hot pile of nothing is what I'll give them.

"Had enough?" Rye asks calmly, as though he just walked in and didn't notice anything wrong despite having sat there the whole time. Jack takes the gag off,

"Go, directly, to the deepest, darkest, most painful, corner of hell, where no one, can here you scream, do NOT pass go.., do NOT collect two hundred dollars." I force out with what voice I have left through gritted teeth,

"Well your creativity survived, sadly your will seems to have survived as well." Rye sighs, "But we can't have you dying on us so that'll be all for today." He continues as if I had completed all my cores I'd been assigned. The leather bounds are released and I'm tossed my baggy pants and hoodie. I slowly, wincing at every movement, much to Jack's amusement as evident by his chortle, pull them on then just lay there, panting half in pain half from exhaustion.

"What's the matter huh? Bit tired?" Jack taunts and pokes where he knows is a bad burn and laughs as I hiss in pain curling up away from him. I let my head fall back onto the table and let myself go limp,

"Jack she's had enough for now, we can't drive her completely insane." Rye scolds sternly, "Come on Kath, up you get, it can't be that bad." Rye coaxes. I flip him the bird, it hurt a lot but it was worth it, "Now that was uncalled for, such a vulgar sign to be making." Rye scolds as if I'm a child. My other hand copies the other, again, painful, but worth it. "Take her to her room Jack." Rye instructs. I let my hands fall and wince as they hit the now blood soaked table. Jack lifts me up and over his shoulder roughly on purpose, causing me to grunt in pain.

If you didn't hold a mirror to my mouth you'd think I was dead, I don't move a muscle to fight against Jack nor bat an eyelid as he bashes my new accommodation's door open. He drops me on the bed, I groan in pain as I hit it,

"Rest up good, got a big day tomorrow, and we want answers this time, if not, we're going to keep doing this until you spill, so, in the end, you're really the one torturing yourself." Jack outlines and slams the door behind him. I stare at the ceiling, maybe this is it for me, perhaps my story ends here. No, it can't be, I definitely won't live to an old age, but this is not how I'm going down. I'm the most valuable assassin on the good side in the world. The agency will get me back, they always have and I won't lose faith in them now. Why I started doubting them in the first place I couldn't tell you. This is just another job, granted it went a little sour, but hey not the first time. Am I losing my touch? Perhaps I should have taken a break a couple years ago when I had the chance, but no my pride wouldn't let me. How foolish that was.

A loud banging and yelling yell wakes me from my sleep. The door of my cell is ripped open and Rye runs in and quickly shackles my wrists,

"Can you run at all?" He asks urgently,

"Yes of course I ca-" I begin sarcastically but before I can finish he's pulled me up and started pulling me,

"Fuck! Ah you buffoon I was being sarcastic!" I yell out half in pain half annoyed.