The Project

The Cell

-Arista's POV-

I've been locked in this cell for what feels like an eternity. I was injected with something and while this time I was fully comprehending the things going on around me, I was unable to move. I did scream at the top of my lungs every single thought that crossed my mind as I was carried to this cell, but beyond that, there wasn't much I could do. 

I have been chained against a wall with what are honestly some ingenious shackles. They were clearly made for a fire wielder, as the cuff portion engulfs my entire hand and is filled with oil, so even if I try to summon fire or heat to melt the chains, all that will happen is the oil will heat and boil and cause severe burning for however long it takes for something to happen. I know that fire cannot hurt me, however I am not immune to boiling fluids. My arms are held out and pinned against the cell walls, and my legs are held in a similar fashion. The muscle cramping ceased long ago, now I have lost the feeling in most of my limbs. At first I tried to shift around and adjust my body enough to gain feeling, but it seems impossible now. I am standing, but on my toes, held there by the chains. The room is dark, all I can make out are muffled noises and an occasional screech from who knows what. The only light comes from the hole in the ceiling that exists for my IV line to snake down from. There is something pumping into me from it, and what that is, I don't know. It may be some form of nourishment, or it may be killing me. If I think too far on that, I'll go mad. But it's been at least a few days, and I haven't felt much beyond the obvious pain of my body stiffening and acclimating to being trapped like this.

How do I get out...How...How much longer can I handle this? The air feels thick, warm, it's almost as though I could drink it...

I feel the rats skittering around my feet and the sweat that has been trickling down my back and between my breasts and wish to God I could kick or scream or even just wipe the sweat from my eyes as it burns. 

I lean back as far as I can and sling myself forward, feeling the shooting pain spread through my arms, slicing through my shoulders and causing me to scream profanities at these people keeping me here, as I continue to slam myself back against the wall then forwards again and again.

-John's POV-

She keeps slamming herself back and forth against the chains, a manic look in her large eyes that shows up even on the grainy images our cameras allow. The screams are muted, but still audible.

I hate seeing people go through this.

I don't even know what Gael wants from her for this to be done, and his usually wry features are closed off to me whenever I glance at him where he sits, across the room. He just watches, tight-lipped and silent. The opposite of the writhing girl on our cameras who is telling him exactly what she thinks of him, her swears punctuated by the harsh crashing of the chains.

"Why did she come?" He says suddenly, breaking the silence and causing me to jolt in my chair.

"Maybe your father sent her. To unsettle you or something, you know he would do that." I offer.

"My father would do worse. He'd send a maimed head or limb, or show up himself. I don't even know this girl, beyond what I saw on the cliff. If he wanted to make me unnerved he would have sent something better. I'm not even sure if he knows she's here. But that makes no sense either."

He goes back to leaning back in his chair, casually weaving a knife between his fingers. His face closes off again, but at least he said something to me about what he was thinking. His movements continue almost as though he is unware of them, and the screaming stops as Arista throws her head back and slumps into the chains, pausing momentarily.

"Should I instruct that her IV line be lessened, maybe her energy would cease, she would possibly be more compliant then...?" I ask, wondering if maybe all he wants is to see how long till she would be willing to be interrogated.

His chair scrapes against the stone floor as he pushes away from the table on which we had been observing the monitor, and without another word he strides out of the room. Knife still in hand.