Hostage {ℍ𝕐𝕌ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾} -- DISCONTINUED

Chapter Twenty-Three

The doors to what had become Jisung's own personal dungeon creaked open, the sound of metal grating on metal filling the otherwise silent room. Jisung had stopped making noise a long time ago. His wrists were still bound above his head, but he had grown so used to the fire raging through his arms that he hardly felt it at all anymore.

He couldn't even be bothered to whimper as his usual tormentors walked into the room; Kim Doyun – he'd found his name out a while ago, too – had given up trying to get any information out of him. It was obvious that he didn't know anything. He was a child after all. The leader of the much smaller Kim gang had failed his objective when he had initially kidnapped him, leaving him in the sadistic clutches of his torturers.

There was no way they would just let him go – his father wasn't coming, either. That much was clear; he'd become useless to these people, to his father. The only reason he wasn't dead yet was because he made a rather good plaything for these men who enjoyed inflicting all sorts of pain on those powerless to fight them. When they got bored of him, he'd find himself in the bottom of a river or burnt to a crisp in a dumpster, or something.

He couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

He couldn't even remember why he had been fighting so hard up until now, the faces of his mother, his brother nothing but distant, foggy memories. How old had Jeongin been again? How old was he? His head remained where it was, bent forward as he stared blankly at the ground.

They said something, but he couldn't hear, disconnected from his own body. He wondered how Jeongin was doing, then. Jeongin, who always smiled, no matter what happened to them, even if Jisung couldn't bring himself to smile. A small smile curved the edges of his frozen lips at the thought of his baby brother.

The chains loosened around his wrist, sending him crashing to his already-bruised knees in a familiar routine. He knew what would come next, the crackle of the whip echoing through the stale air, landing inches away from his body.

His back was already a maze of lash-marks, his torturer's favourite pass-time. Some of the marks were healed, welding his skin in ugly, misshapen scars, while others had scabbed over, others fresh. He'd get a new set to add onto them, soon. How long would it take until his entire back was covered?

The familiar burning pain spread through a new gash on his back, crisscrossing over another. He lurched against the ground, his face buried in cold concrete. More pain came, hitting him in a seemingly endless onslaught.

"This one's no fun anymore," one of them said, their voices muffled between the ringing in his ears. He remained where he was, staring at the wall across the room.

One of them knelt down in front of him, grabbing him by his overgrown hair, lifting his face so he stared at him now, instead. A smile full of missing teeth met his field of vision, the man's face oily and clammy. He was disgusting, really. "Looks like your daddy doesn't give a rat's ass about you." He let his face fall right back into the concrete, standing up.

"Apparently Boss is thinking of snatching the second kid. Maybe he cares more about the little bitch than this one."

"He must be getting pretty desperate to do somethin' like that, eh?" The man who'd whipped him chuckled, his greasy voice breaking the silence. Meanwhile, the ringing that had filled Jisung's head cut out immediately. Were they talking about... Jeongin?

"I'm getting' kinda bored with this one. Might be more fun with two of 'em brothers." Jisung slowly pushed himself up, his heart pumping faster in his chest, blood rushing through his body, strengthening him.