The Color of Death is Blue

The Torture

Blood spilled from Keith's mouth and down his neck as he screamed in agony. He sat in a rusty metal chair, wrists and ankles bound with old chains that clinked every time he struggled. Spotlights shined down on him, displaying every gory detail of his torture. Various tools and stains littered the concrete floor.

A shiny silver cart clattered with tools, catching Lance's attention. A larger, grungy man with a scraggly beard yanked a hammer from it, causing the other metals to shift.

Keith's head hung down as he winced in pain. His hair was oily and matted with dirt and dried blood. His black shirt was torn, showing off deep wounds of red and brown. His gloves and shoes had been removed and Lance's chest sunk when he noticed the condition of his hands and feet. Most of his toes were bloody and purple, broken or hanging by veins. His hands were littered with burn scars as if they had been fried. He writhed in his chair, shifting from side to side.

The man flipped the hammer in the air, "Where's the boy?!" His voice was low and hysterical.

Keith's chest bounced. Lance thought he was crying until he lifted his bloody and bruised face to reveal a sinister smile. He let out a chuckle, leaning against the back of the chair. Then, he launched his chest forward to spit blood in the man's face.

The man wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then reached into a pocket of his dirty apron. After a few seconds of jingling, he pulled out a long silver nail. Keith's hands rested on a new plank of wood, and he closed his fists in rebellion. The man pulled open Keith's hands with little difficulty and spread his fingers. Keith gritted his teeth and whimpered in panic as a cloth was tied around the back of his hand, securing his palm to the wood.

The man lined up a nail over Keith's middle finger and shouted in his face, spit shooting off his teeth, "Where's the boy?!"

"Fuck you!" Keith yelled back without hesitation.

Lance's mouth dropped as the hammer was swung into the air, crashing down on the nail. Keith threw his head back and let out a violent scream as his finger was attached to the wood. A bloody tear fell down the side of his face as his voice caught in his throat. He gritted his teeth and breathed through them angrily as he glared at his psychotic tormentor.

Lance looked away to cry. It pained his heart to think about how long Keith had endured this torture. Shiro shoved Lance's shoulder and shot him a look of annoyance, then turned to scan the room. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't help him. He was right there, but Lance couldn't stop his pain.

Another nail was driven through Keith's pinky, securing it to the blood-filled board. Every time he wailed, the weight on Lance's shoulders doubled. What scared him the most was the fact that even Shiro didn't know what the hell to do.

Being distracted by Keith's pain, Lance had failed to notice his own surroundings. The faint smell of smoke wafted at his nose. He scrunched his eyebrows together and spoke through his mask, "Shiro?"

He ignored him, continuing his search.

Lance unhooked the buttons of his mask, pulling it off his face. He tapped his arm, "Shiro."

"What?" He finally noticed him and eyed the mask on the ground.

Lance sniffed and motioned to the air. Shiro stopped and his face dropped in realization, "Shit!"

Lance looked back down to check on Keith. The nails had been removed, leaving a bloody mess of three fingers on both hands. He had his head back and his chest jerked as he sniffed the air. It seemed that everyone had noticed the strange smoke filling the room.

Keith's scraggly tormentor tossed his tools down and headed toward the door, leaving Keith alone. As soon as the door shut, Keith yanked on his chains. Lance looked to Shiro, expecting him to help, but he didn't. Keith managed to wiggle his hands out of the chains and pulled something from his hair, moving to his feet. Lance was constantly reminded of the array of skills Keith possessed, and was pleasantly surprised every time. Wrapping his mask around his jaw, Lance stood up with Shiro.

Keith hopped down from the chair, stumbling from the pain in his mutilated toes and wincing at his fingers. Lance's boots hit the metal railing, causing a ring to echo in the room. The sound caught Keith's attention and he searched for the source. Finally, he glanced up and locked eyes with Lance. His face was dripping with blood and splattered with bruises. Tears fell down his cheeks from the pain, but he smiled in relief and tapped his right cheek with a crushed finger.

His voice was shaky with pain but full of hope as he called up to Lance, "What are you doing here, Princess?"

The familiar nickname filled Lance's chest with warmth. He wanted to respond, but was cut off by the sudden bang of the metal door. Keith spun around and squared up as he faced the sound.

"What are you doing out of your chair?!"