Planet B

Ch.14

Red was William's world. He woke to fire, burning near his face. His body throbbed, red from repeated abuses. Boils littered his left forearm, a souvenir from the touch of flame to flesh. He wished it would be over, that they would kill him, but he knew that wouldn't happen. The man with the beard would not let him escape his mortal coil.

William's eyes adjusted to the room and he allowed them to open, at least as much as they could. His right eye was swollen half shut from a particularly vicious backhand a couple days prior. Thankfully he was alone in the room. That meant his level of misery would not increase, not until someone arrived.

As always, his bonds were tight. Wrists and ankles straps weren't the only restraints. Thick leather held down his chest and thighs and a padded strap fastened around his neck. There was no chance of escape. William swallowed deeply, dry throat yearning for water. He would die in here.

Just like your friends.

No. They were alive. William knew it. He knew it. They were just waiting for the chance to rescue him, to free him from his captivity. They would never just abandon him.

You're right, they wouldn't. But it's hard for them to save you when they're dead. Thanks to you.

William turned and looked directly at one of the lanterns burning on the table. The light caused his head to throb but he continued his gaze. He found staring at the flame kept the voice at bay. He'd had to do a lot of staring the last few days.

A noise sounded behind him, somewhere outside of the room. His body shivered and William couldn't help but feel a pang of terror. His bonds prevented him from seeing much of the room, and his captors always entered from behind. In front of him he could see the table with the lantern, some blood-crusted utensils and a few sheets of papers with semi-organized notes. Notes about William and how he'd handled his torture. Everything else was blank metal wall.

The door opened behind him and William twitched, sending pain shooting throughout his body where open cuts and deep bruises still ached. He heard the now familiar sound of Cryton feet moving across the floor, their gait creating an ill-timed cadence like a Danny Elfman score with Parkinson's. Slowly they circled around in front of him. These ones wore full covering, the only exposed flesh being their faces.

Initially the torture wasn't torture at all, more like demented experiments. Crytons would come in, one by one, and interact with William in different ways, either touching him or being touched by him. It took nearly thirty Cryton deaths for their leader to be satisfied, for him to move on to the destruction of William's body as opposed to the destruction of his forces. Heavy footsteps sounded behind William. Their leader had returned.

These footsteps sounded much more forcefully than the Crytons', purposeful and lacking any semblance of stealth. But William doubted stealth was in this man's repertoire. He carried himself tall and proud, as tall as a hunched man could anyway. He bore himself like a man of importance, though William suspected it was less earned and more self-realized.

The door slammed shut and William found he could even smell the man. Cologne was something he knew some men used, but what this man did went beyond that. He wore scents as a vacationing man wore a Hawaiian shirt, loud and tacky and oblivious to that fact. The smell washed over William as the man stepped in front of him, bent forward slightly with a smile.

"Good morning William," he said, gravelly voice in direct contrast with the twinkle in eye and mirth in his grin. "I hope you're ready for another exciting day. I know I am." He stood up straighter and spun, advancing on the table of tools. William heard the pieces of metal clanging but couldn't see what he was grabbing.