Of The Captive

-Chapter 9-

Your name is Dave Strider. You have just realized exactly how psychotic Bro is. You pull John closer to your side, away from Bro. He looms over you, his dark sunglasses giving you a reflective glimpse of what you look like. Damn. You're a mess. Egbert looks good compared to you. Suddenly, Bro reaches down and pull John to his feet. You begin to protest, but a vicious kick knocks you back to the ground. Bro drags John over to a wall covered in long rows of shackles. He clips one onto John's wrist before walking back over to you. He leans over you and murmurs, "Finally. You can't get away. And if you try, I'll kill your little... pet."
You hear John yell, "There are worse things than death, you bitch!" Bro turns and contemplates John's figure, shackled to the wall, completely defenseless. "Oh, I know there are worse things." He chuckles. "I know them, and I will do them to you. All in good time, though. First, we have to start with the naughty little boy." Noticing your attempts to rise to your feet, he kicks you again. "You've been very bad, haven't you? I've always told you. You can do whatever you like, but there will be repercussions. It's time for those repercussions." He laughs and drags you over to an old, rusty, bloodstained table covered in dusty, cracking leather straps and harnesses. He flicks on an overhead lamp and pulls another small table over to you. The small table is covered in an assortment of knives, needles, strings, and what looks like... well, that's too much bone to be an animal, and you doubt that the gore-spewing internal organs are fake. Bro shoves the remains of what you're pretty sure was once a teenage girl off of his tools and pulls you up onto the table, laying you face-up. He buckles you into the harness and straps your arms and legs down to the tabletop. You know that you're never going to break free, especially in your current state, so you just let it happen. At this point, struggling will only get you more injured. Bro grins as he finishes tying you down. "Good, good." He mutters. "That should hold you quite nicely." Then he picks up a pair of scissors. "First thing we need to do is get rid of all those clothes." He deftly cuts through the edge of your jeans, tearing them to shreds in a matter of seconds. He pulls the scraps away and throws them onto the ground as he goes, slowly building a small pile of denim on the ground. Then he starts on your shirt, once again slicing through the disc he split so long ago. Eventually, you're in nothing but your underwear. He rips the last shreds of fabric away from your chest and tosses them to the ground. "Now..." He picks up a small black marker from the table. "Where should we begin?" He begins to draw lines across your body, creating a mess of inky black streaks on your skin. "Should we begin the incision here and drag it to here? Or should we start over here and go there next?" He laughs to himself. "What does it matter? It's all the same in the end." He sets down the marker and picks up a small knife, a scalpel really. You hear John gasp in terror as Bro sets the knife against the small of your chest.
"John, don't. Don't look." You call to him. "No matter what, don't look."
"Dave..." John sobs out. God, the sound of him crying is heartbreaking. Bro laughs and grips the knife tighter. Before you realize what is happening, you hear a sickeningly wet rip.
Then the pain hits.
It starts at the cut and travels in waves, jerking through your entire body, forcing you to convulse violently. You close your eyes and scream as loudly as you can. Bro only adjusts his grip on the knife as he delicately drags it up the center of your rib cage, splitting the skin, carving at your flesh. He isn't going deep enough to cause deathly injuries, but it's enough to make you howl, loudly, loud enough to drown out the sound of your blood drip-drip-dripping onto the floor, loud enough to drown out Bro's maniac laughter, loud enough to drown out John's screams as he fights against his chains. The pain is so intense that your vision begins to cloud and you fight for air, forcing your lungs to breathe in and out. Bro giggles like a school girl as he removes the knife from your flesh, a good six inces away from where it started. You look down at the gash. It's bleeding rapidly, sending out a new gush of red liquid every time you breathe in. You realize that you need to get a grip on yourself, or else you're going to bleed out on the table. You decide to casually mention this fact to Bro.
"I'm going to..." You pause to cough. "...bleed out. I-I'm gonna die." You hear John inhale quickly. Bro only chuckles. "No, we're not going to let that happen." He sets the knife back on the little table and picks up the needle and thread you saw earlier. He knots the end of the thread and positions the needle above the edge of the wound. You suddenly realize what he's planning. You twist and scream again as he sinks the needle into your chest, just below the knife cut. He pulls the thread through your skin as he stitches the gash closed. "Shh... Hold still, you little bitch." He mutters. "I can't do this right with you flipping out." As he ties in the final stitch, he breaks the thread and sets the needle back on the table. Then he unties you, throws you over his shoulder, and carries you over to where John is laying on the floor. He tosses you down next to John, secures your right leg to one of the chains, and walks to the door. "Goodnight, little ones." He laughs, flips out the light, and slams the door closed, locking it behind him, plunging you and John into complete darkness.