Escalator to Hell [pg13]

[Iƪƪia]

Once again it was his favorite time of day. Well, night rather. The night was oh so much fun. Girls thought it was a good idea to walk around at night, and it was a good idea in his opinion. He thrived in the night, they didn't, they were usually tired or drunk or oblivious. Even if they had the foresight to bring someone along, one other person wasn't enough to deter him. Let that be a lesson: when travelling through a town at night bring a minimum of four people to ward off supernatural rapists.

Today, however, he had decided to try something different. Strange how he had conducted his business in this town for awhile now but had never thought to go after the inhabitants. To be honest, they had never seemed that appealing before. For one, the night was like their day, so they would be much more alert than the students, and some of them could very well be pretty old and strong. What's more, they were like walking corpses, which was kinda gross when you thought about it but hey, it wasn't like he was beyond ****ing a corpse.

So he did.

His mission accomplished, he left her along the side of a building, not feeling motivated enough to try and kill her. In the end, she wasn't really different than any other girl he'd had before, which disappointed him a bit. He had hoped she'd be somewhat exotic, maybe have had a biting fetish at least. Then again, it wasn't as if she actually wanted that, as surprising as that may be. That was how it always was. No matter who they were, no matter the species, the age, anything, whenever he'd have them they all suddenly became the same girl. He'd had the same frightened little girl for over 300 years. Not that he was complaining.

He strode down one of the connected alleys, whistling a cheerful tune as he fixed his jacket, making sure it sat just right. Passing a building with a particularly reflective back window, he stopped short, walking up to it to examine his appearance and beginning to compulsively fix his hair, moving one strand at a time and placing them with such precision that one might expect of a surgeon, all simply so that his perfect hair was, well, perfect once again

Yeah, just another, ordinary night.

[ωΘĿƒ]

* * *

He turned the corner. Not really sure why, but he did things occasionally that didn't make sense at first. Did later though. Whether that be foresight or something else, he didn't really care about. Fact was, whenever he did something he had no idea why he did, it always worked. Made sense then to just go along with it.

...and look at that. It did make sense. White paused, really not sure exactly what to do. Well, she was on the floor, and she was whimpering like a wounded animal. Took him a second to piece it together, just because the thought itself was so damn ridiculous, but when he did, he continued to walk towards her.

She cringed at first, but without much notice of this and almost as if he'd expected it, White wrapped his arms sportively around her and stood her up - not in one of those damsel in distress ways. It was almost like he was helping someone too drunk to stand to make it to the door. Immediately, she dug her nails into his forearms, shaking her head vigorously as she did.

Damn, vampire nails were sharp...

"I- I'm sorry..." she mumbled, kinda incoherently, but he was very good at deciphering that kind of talk. "I- didn't mean to... I'm sorry..."

Now, this bears a bit of explaining, but it was a very simple concept to get. Just like White's "friends" were a very loosely associated group of people that generally he didn't give a damn about, White's "family" - or all of Colleger - was a loose association of people that generally tolerated his presence and didn't screw around with him.

This was labeled under the "screw around with" category.

"Sorry..." she repeated. She kept repeating it, actually; and the thought happened to hit him that this is about what most people do when they're abused. You'd think vampires or other mythicals would be different... but they aren't. Everyone bleeds about the same amount if you cut 'em.

He let her continue to apologize, more a string of sounds strewn out than anything. Her clothes were torn off but still hanging from her shaking form. So White took off his jacket and wrapped her up in it, peeling the clawlike nails off one hand at a time and then threading her arms through the sleeves.

"Someone else is gonna take you home," he said, very softly and with a sweetness that seemed odd for him. And yet he was sincere. He stayed and waited for someone else to hear the call she'd sent out, and then he explained very clearly what to do before leaving.

Not rushing at all as he ambled along a connecting alley.

* * *

Mirrors were very useful to him. So were inattentive rapists. White walked right up to the man without a thought, even stopping to tilt his head to the side of Hendrix' reflection and wonder what he looked like as he stared back at the scenery behind him.

Not a lot of mirrors when he was alive, so it always was a small mystery to him.

Tilting his head back again, White took a small, shallow breath and coughed. When Hendrix turned around he balled a fist and hit the guy about as hard as he could. Hendrix crumpled.

Taking out an already blood-colored cloth, White scrubbed his hands down with it as a matter of habit.

"Hmmm," he hummed, wondering if he could have just led him by gunpoint instead. Then, carelessly shrugging this alternative off, White slung the unconscious Hendrix over his shoulder and shoved off towards the dungeon.

Luckily it had plenty of rooms so that little kidnapping kids thing wouldn't interfere with what he had in mind.



((>.> I'm going to assume Hend a) reacts to the cough and b) is a wuss and gets knocked out by one super-strength punch to quicken the plot... if yadon't think so I can edit))

[Iƪƪia]

After walking the thin line between unconsciousness and awareness for awhile, Hendrix was finally able to break through the barrier and rejoin the land of consciousness once more, only to be met by complete and utter confusion. Confusion as in he had no idea where he was or how he got there, which was strange as he rarely ever blacked out like that. Just about the only time it was possible was when he was on a bit too much, uh, medication. Now, he didn't recall having taken anything in the past week or so.

Perhaps he could try to piece this all together. Let's see... He had just finished up with that vampire chick and had stopped by the back of one of the buildings, and then... There was light. A blinding, painful light. Then nothing. But what did it all mean? Well, maybe all his questions would be answered once he opened his eyes and actually examined his surroundings.

Bad idea.

As soon as he cracked open his eyes he was met by an awful, pounding headache. It wasn't at all like his usual headaches, but it felt as if... As if someone had decked him real good. So he snapped his eyes shut again with a groan and leaned his head back against whatever wall was behind him. Then, as he attempted to reach up to his head to massage the pain away, he noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. He couldn't move. His arms were bound to the wall behind him.

Ignoring the pain, his eyes flew open as he finally took in his surroundings. It was dark for one, but he didn't need light. He could see the stone flooring, feel how heavy the air was in his lungs. It looked like a dungeon... But why was he in a dungeon? Only now did he realize that it wasn't a wall he was chained to at all, but a table of sorts, tilted upright so it was very much like a wall, only now it had the feeling of something much more sinister.

It was right about here that he began to panic.

He couldn't move- why was he chained down like this?! He didn't like being chained. Had to get out, get away. Why was he here? Who brought him here? What the **** did he do to deserve this?! Should have got the hell out of town when he had the chance, why didn't he ever listen to reason?! Those binds, they hurt... Had to get out- what the **** was this place!?

Gasping for breath, he looked around, not bothering to hope for a way out but rather, just looking for answers. They began to whisper words of comfort to him, which managed to calm him down enough so that he was no longer at the risk of hyperventilating, though he still had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. Sure, screaming may work in some scenarios, but who would really be able to hear him here? And if someone did, who would want to rescue him?

[ωΘĿƒ]

…Despite popular belief, White didn’t enjoy this kind of stuff. He wasn’t some sick **** that got off on stabbing someone in the gut because he didn’t know how to screw a chick. Hated those freaks, actually. But he wasn’t squeamish either, so he didn’t really notice the difference between sawing a log in half and sawing off some guy’s leg – other than the blood. Trees don’t bleed. Overall you could say it was more a chore than anything. Sure, he had to work, but it had to be done. Wasn’t much else to it.

Leaning against the door of… hell, he actually didn’t know the name of it. But it was coffin-shaped and it had them spikes inside like some kinda meat grinder or something. Anyways, the door was open, and he was resting against it, staring inside and trying to count all the spikes. He nursed his second or third Bloody Mary of the night – made with real blood and all. He was at fifty something or other when he lost count and had to start over.

****… Let’s see. If he went diagonal?

The rows were diagonal, and once he noticed that, he was able to count everything up. Seventy rows and eight thousand, seven hundred and twenty six spikes. Not that he was waiting that long. He could count faster than most other people. Probably because of all the Bloody Mary’s. Blood always woke him up.

Speaking of waking up, when Hendrix finally got around to that, White just angled his head in the general direction he was in, listening to the sound of the chains as they clinked slowly, then as Hendrix became aware of his surroundings, started to rattle. He always figured the guy to be one of those nervous types. Got all worked up about nothing, squirming and wriggling like a worm on a fishing hook. White stirred his drink lethargically with the stalk of celery, deciding that aerating the blood out would make up for the fact that the vodka would taste better if he mixed it. Taking another small sip and blinking as the concoction slid down, he wandered away from the odd contraption and up to something pointy but seat-shaped enough to slump back against. Still stirring in a slow, rhythmic motion, White watched disinterestedly as Hendrix slowly seemed to gain control of himself.

White flicked a light switch and a single bulb above Hendrix lit up. The light, though nice and bright, was grimy with dust. You could almost see the air flow as it churned into the small, concentrated section of illumination.

”Mmmmm,” White hummed, holding a finger up as if to say “one minute” and gulping the rest of his Bloody Mary down quickly, shaking his head at the fiery burn it left. ”Alright, alright. Stop sniveling. I haven’t even touched ya yet.”

Setting the glass down on the strange, pointy whatever-it-was he was sitting on, he then folded his arms and waited for the sting to go down in his throat before saying anything else.

”Right… So let’s start out with somethin’ easy.” he continued in that calm, conversational manner of his. Not even thinking about it, he just spoke as if he were having a conversation with someone at the bar.

Why, was he supposed to be scary? Add some icy apathy in there to show that he didn’t really give a crap if he started to work on Hendrix? Well, he didn’t. Not like he was going to kill the guy, or even do anything small like take out a personal vendetta. Hendrix had done something damn stupid, and White was going to dissuade him from ever doing it again. Simple. Besides, the way it was going, he didn’t even need to put on a scary face and say “boo.” Hendrix might ****ing have a heart attack just sitting there chained to a slab.

”What did you do wrong?”

He was going to stop there, but then, hardly after he went looking for a smoke, he seemed to remember something.

”Oh, and think real hard now. You give me a bull**** answer and I’ll pick a bone to break.”

Satisfied now with the long string of information he’d given, White fished out a cigarette and a light, starting right off the bat with a long, steady draw.

[Iƪƪia]

Now that he was calm enough, he began to think rationally. As he did so, he came back to an idea that he had - for some strange reason - discarded right at the beginning. Now why would he do that? If there was any way he could possible escape, then he had to try it. So, without a second thought he focused simply on shifting out of the plane, away from this nightmare, to somewhere much safer. However, no sooner had he begun this task than he suddenly remembered why it was that he had discarded the idea in the first place. Nothing was ever that easy for him.

He gasped in pain and surprise as his attempt failed, and right about then, some light up above suddenly flickered on. He flinched in surprise and would have probably jumped back had it not been for his inability to move. Shutting his eyes in response to the sudden light, he kept his head down until he finally worked up the courage to glance around the room once more.

Out of all the people he'd met and out of all the **** that he'd done... He had to admit to not being a very well-liked person in the end. However, out of all the people that he'd wronged, this one came as a bit of a shock.

His breath catching in his throat, his hands began to tremble slightly, and hearing that eerie clinking sound only increased his fear. So here he was, scared ****less, and White hadn't even said two words yet. What was all of this about? What did he do?

What did he do?

Hendrix thought about this for a moment; thought about the events leading up to his imprisonment, wondering which one had been the deciding factor. Yeah, he hurt a few people, but did it really matter? This had been going on for months now, and aside from that one human girl, no one gave a ****. Why would this guy-

"Aw, man. The vampire?"

Realizing that he had just spoken aloud and realizing that his assumption was most likely correct he glanced up and began to stammer a few incoherent words as he desperately searched for an explanation. Did he have an explanation? A good one? Would this guy care to hear one? Probably not. So what then?

"I- I... God, I'm sorry... Sorry! So ****ing sorry! ThatwasstupidIknowandIpromiseI'llneverdoanythinglikeitagain! I'm just- I- Please, just please, I- Sorry..."

Slowly his apologies began to fade away into whimpering sounds. It was kind of hard to breathe now, and he was rather lightheaded, Normally, this would have been cause for alarm, but right now he almost wished he would pass out. That way it might be all over when he woke up again. Well, if he woke up again.

[ωΘĿƒ]

White really thought hard about getting another Mary... He could just slip up to the Cabaret real fast and mix up another batch. Then he'd just come back and- Well no. That wasn't fair now was it? Hendrix had already woken up and he'd hate to leave the guy here. Kinda doing something important.

White let out his breath, watching the smoke drift up lazily and curl in on itself before adding to the already thick, filthy air. Yup. Important...

He did get his answer, but after that he got a long, mumbled string of noises sounding awfully apologetic. He remembered "the vampire" as Hendrix referred to her. She had apologized to him too. It looked like he had sympathized with her at the time, but standing here now listening to the apology of the man that had raped her in the first place, he noticed something.

He had the same reaction to both of them: Sympathy. Like he said, he wasn't some crazy ****er... He did kinda feel bad about this.

White flicked the ashes off his cigarette, sighing.

Without a word he made his way through the maze of strange devices and off somewhere behind where Hendrix was. It didn't take long. About a minute or less. Rummaging around for something or other, White took the shorter way around the littered metalwork and came up behind the slab without a sound.

"How much do you weigh...?"

Without waiting for an answer, White guessed. Usually right too. The needle stuck in Hendrix' arm and emptied its contents. White then slid it out slowly, leaning around the corner of the slab and checking to see Hendrix' pupils dilate. When they did, White chucked the syringe aside and patted him on the shoulder happily, moving forward to go look for something to start with.

"That'll give you some peace," he said simply, picking something at random up from a cluttered table, and taking the time to examine it only after he'd chosen.

Pliers? Too permanent.

He threw the pliers back carelessly, then reached for something else.

****ing pizza cutter... The hell would he do with a pizza cutter?

And he went on like this, trying to decide what exactly he would use. Like he said, it was a hard decision. Anything would work, but would it do exactly what he wanted?

...probably, but he still hadn't found something that struck his fancy.

Screwdriver, electric saw, a small flail thing, a serrated knife, some kinda electric shock thing. Hmmmm... Ah! There's something.

Picking up a large, vaguely handle-shaped object, White then went to a bench next to the first and picked out a battery. Snapping it in place, he then grabbed an unmarked bag and threw everything he'd gathered next to his empty glass, facing away from Hendrix. Taking a few minutes, he loaded the thing like he would load bullets in a gun then quickly did a test run. There was a loud whump and only after he heard this sound did he turn around to reveal his choice. It was a big, nasty looking electric nail gun. He ****ing loved power tools.

Smiling like like he'd just said something moderately funny, White figured that by now Hendrix would be nice and calm. He wasn't gonna be so chicken**** scared now, but he was still gonna feel whatever White did to him. Walking up to the securely chained up Hendrix, White let the nail gun lull in his hand as he wondered which body part he wanted to work on.

Well... he didn't want to break anything important. He held the end of the slab, as if bracing himself and crooked his arm, letting the nail gun rest against his shoulder before carefully placing the tip of the first nail on Hendrix. Starting near the top and sliding that pointed tip leisurely down, White felt out where Hendrix' ribs were. Probably wanted to go between those, or the nail might break something. Usually waited a bit longer than the first try to actually break anything. That was what the second shot was for.

Picking a spot about halfway down, White teased the trigger and made sure Hendrix was doing okay.

"Relax" he mentioned, almost as an afterthought "It hurts more if you're all tense like that..."

* * *

[Iƪƪia]

Hendrix watched as White walked past all the other torture devices and out of his line of sight, figuring that his heartfelt apology must have had no effect and leaving him to mumble incoherently under his breath. More than anything he couldn't handle the waiting. This overabundance of fear he was feeling was nauseating. Why did he have to suffer any longer?

Then again, why was he in such a hurry for this all to end?

"Not ready to die yet..."

He shook his head, managing to have frightened himself even further when he noticed White beside him. He gasped as he was injected with... Something. Something that White claimed would "give him some peace." Was that peace as in death? Rest in peace and all that. Probably not. It wasn't necessary for him to be chained down in a dungeon if he was just going to kill him with an injection. That was... Rather disappointing actually. He always thought drugs would be a rather nice death. Relatively quick and painless. Those times he had considered suicide he decided that his method would have been overdosing. Not that they would ever let him do that, of course.

As he watched White go to rummage through a crowded table, Hendrix noticed a strange change take place within himself. He was... Well, not calm per se... But calmer. Now noticing that he was watching White's movements with more of a curiosity rather than fear, he shut his eyes and exhaled loudly as he began to worry about his sanity, as ironic as that may be.

A quick, whispering noise was the only indication of danger he received as he looked up to see a gun pointing at his chest. Well, a nail gun, which was slightly better than an actual gun. Maybe. Really depended on how it was used, actually.

While whatever drug he'd been giving had prevented him from hyperventilating again, he still maintained his common sense. Enough so to know that that was going to hurt. A lot. Enough so to make one last effort to free himself, weak though it may be.

"Help?"

It wasn't directed at White, and the only reason he'd spoken aloud at all was because he wasn't able to speak within his own mind at the moment. Drugs did that to him. No matter what kind they were, they always ****ed with his mind. Always ****ed with them too. He could feel them trying to speak, but he couldn't make out what it was they were trying to say.

Quickly giving up, he nodded at White's suggestion to relax and turned his head to the side, as if not watching the gun would make it hurt less.

It didn't.

He didn't hear the sound, but he sure as hell felt the first nail connect, piercing his flesh, causing him to cry out and jarring his entire body. Attempting to ignore the pain and failing, he could only wonder how he'd manage to survive this all if he couldn't handle one nail.

The following shots were no better and they left him sniveling and trembling. He didn't like pain. Who did? He wasn't some sort of masochistic freak. All he could do now was silently hope that this would just end.

[ωΘĿƒ]

As a general rule, it was a lot easier to actually use power tools on building things than it was on people. For starters, hacked up trees didn't squirm all that much. Kinda hard to hit the nail on the head, so to speak, if your target was moving; but unlike building somethin' and more to the credit of people, there wasn't really a wrong way to hurt someone. If ya slipped it usually turned out a lot better than if you had aimed and made it. Not that he slipped often. Kinda good at this stuff. Had a lot of practice and more than a few long years to get it right.

Besides, Hendrix was a trooper. Didn't hold back on the sound effects. A lot of times you'd get someone who got it in their heads they were gonna be a tough guy and wait it out quietly. Took up a lot more effort than they had to spare and ended up making everything longer. Because you can't hurt someone who's not awake to notice it. Then eventually after they came to they noticed all that crap about not being afraid hadn't helped them much. Still in the same place they started, and a lot of times bled out from the first session an' not as perky to try to be all quiet again. Begged and cried and pleaded with him sometime around that point, all loud and the whole deal. Sad too, because he usually hadn't even got half way.

Yeah, really did pay to be spineless when someone was working on you.

And speaking of working, White tugged at the trigger lightly, and instead of a nice whump[/b] and a whimper, he heard the machine make a hollow click. Out of nails.

"Damn," he mumbled, leaning on the side of the slab, gun facing forward and ready to go, and listening to the disappointing click a few more times before deciding to trade it out for something else.

Well let's see now... He'd done some sharp force impact stuff. Couldn't keep pumping the guy full of metal. How about some shallow stuff next?

Tossing the gun on the far end of the table full of instruments, White then started to boredly comb through the mess. Didn't feel like anything manual today. He'd keep with the power tool theme until he got to the finale. That always had to be manual, because when you ended you had to be personal. Left his guy on a good ending note. Screw with me again and we'll schedule another one of these.

White picked the electric saw, wandering back over to Hendrix and trying it out some. It worked alright but...

"Hmmm. Sounds like the rotation's off a bit." He said, holding the saw up and tilting his head to listen to the high whining noise. Yeah, sounded just a bit like it was wobbling. Probably because he'd abused it some in the past. Could handle bone okay, but some of these kids had scales and ****... He kinda felt bad for the saw, but it took forever to rip every scale off every dragon. Easier just to work through 'em with something sharp.

"You don't have scales, do ya?" he asked, only half interested in an answer.
[/color]

[Iƪƪia]

It must have been right around the fourth or fifth shot that whatever dignity he had left vanished completely. He made no attempt to conceal his tears, sobbing and yelping in pain every time another nail tore its way through his flesh. By now he'd decided that he wasn't going to watch; wasn't going to look until it was all over. Despite this, he couldn't escape from the sharp, stinging pain that was spreading through his entire body.

Then there was a moment of, well, nothing. Still not daring to open his eyes, he continued to look desperately for a way to lessen the pain. He wasn't about to find one, of course, but that didn't stop him from trying. What else was he supposed to do? Just grit his teeth and wait until it ended? Though that did work the previous times-

Yeah, this wasn't his first experience with torture. Well, it kinda was with this kind of torture but... Well, let's just say that in the past he'd ****ed with the wrong chicks a few times and had to be "taught a lesson". Of course, that was quite different than now. In the past they had been quick, impulsive, and emotional. this was pretty systematic and he couldn't see much, if any, emotions behind it at all, and that seemed all the more dangerous to him.

If the pain was anything to go by- damn, the pain. It was- He just- No damn it, no just make it stop...

In spite of himself he looked up, opening his eyes when he heard White speak again. What... Scales? His scales were hardly any different from regular skin. They didn't give any added protection, that was certain. Not like a dragon's scales. In truth, they didn't even deserve to be called scales at all. So in short, the answer would be no.

Looking at the saw with a grimace, he contemplated the best answer. Should he lie and say he did? That could spare him the pain of that saw. Although something about lying to the guy torturing you just seemed like a bad idea. Besides, who knew what he might use to try and saw through his "scales"? The truth it was then.

"No... Please no, just... Stop..."

His response soon deteriorated into another round of apologizing, coupled with a few pleas for mercy for good measure, though each one was weaker then the last. Eventually, he only fell into another fit of sobs, tightly shutting his eyes and trying desperately to brace himself for whatever would come next.

[ωΘĿƒ]

White dug his finger under one of the serrated edges and gave the blade a little spin, trying to figure out where the kink was. Hmmmm, that wasn't good...

Not the saw. The saw would do just fine. He needed another light.

Tossing the old spent butt away, he soon replaced it with a fresh one. His calm, rhythmic breathing returned to its thick, suffocating usual. And now back to the saw... The saw was fine. He'd just need to get it fixed later. Made that damn noise he didn't like.

Looking back up to see where his question had got him, he heard Hendrix muddle out some sentence fragments then start his groveling again. He liked to do that. Apologized a lot. Asked for mercy a bit too. White nodded his head at all this, folding his arms, saw hanging in his hand, making a genuine effort to try to listen. Now what was the first thing he said? Was that a "no"? No scales or **** to mess his saw up any?

Well good. Hendrix did the smart thing and told the truth. Not that the guy remembered, but White had promised to break somethin' if he lied. Meant he didn't have to get a hammer out to follow up. He hated it when people up and lied to him. Goddamn rude.

Taking a deep breath of the sweet, smooth flavor of his cigarette, White waited patiently for Hendrix's sniveling to die down.

"Good man," he said, letting the flavor seep out as he spoke. "Ya missed out on somethin' foul there. Lucky you."

And with that, he gunned the saw a bit and moved to the side of the slab. Tilting the whirring blade so it would only skim the surface.

He'd done body. Now he'd try out arms.

[Iƪƪia]

In the end, his apologizing had got him nowhere. Not that he was really expecting anything to happen, but he had to hope that maybe this guy would be just a little merciful to him. After all, he wasn't really such a bad guy. He may have some questionable hobbies, but he really was nice! Really! He didn't deserve this... Hell, at most someone could just threaten him and he'd never even set foot in this town again, All of this just wasn't fair.

He couldn't find any pleasure in knowing that he had managed to avoid something even worse once he listened to the sound the saw was making. It sounded painful. ****, everything sounded painful right now: the saw, his breathing, his thoughts. It was unbearable. Or at least, that's what it felt like. However, the moment the saw made contact with his skin - not much, either, just scraping along the surface of his arm - everything else was put into perspective.

It only took a matter of seconds before the hot, searing pain flashed throughout his entire body. His screams sounded more like that of a dying animal as he thrashed against the chains despite knowing full well that he was nowhere near strong enough to break them.

In between cries of pure agony he managed to form a few coherent sentences, first begging, pleading for it to stop, then becoming pleas to simply end his life right at that moment. Death was growing more attractive by the second.

Still lashing out against the chains, he began to forgo the English language in favor of his native tongue, shouting curse words broken occasionally by a plea to some god - any god - for help. He soon realized that, for once in his life, if he'd had a knife or some other weapon in his hand right now he would really have been able to bring it down upon himself. Figures that the one time he found the strength to end his own life, he was chained to a slab, unable to move.

[ωΘĿƒ]

Kinda hard to top peeling the skin off someone. Now that **** hurt. White wouldda been happy to go deeper and shave some of the pain off, but that got messy. He wasn't wearing a smock or anything, so shallow and near the nerves it was. Nothing sprayed that way, and it'd suck to accidentally hit a vein this early in.

Speaking of which. He pulled up quickly, just missing one. The steady whirr stalled and calmed to a light spinning, scraping sound. Then a dead halt. He grimaced slightly. As the whining sound of the saw died down, he kinda noticed the other kind of whining. The more loud and piteous kind. Screaming, really. Like what you'd hear if you threw a cat in a wood chipper. Damn noise always bothered him. Not because someone living and breathing was making it. He'd prefer it if it was someone living - he didn't mutilate corpses or his own. But the **** got real loud real fast, and it wasn't exactly opera quality.

Guess he didn't like loud noises much.

Not really all that motivated to finish up on the left arm, he tossed the saw from where he was standing and it made an ugly slam on the metal table. Hmmm. Oh well. He had a few more things he could do before he got bored; and besides, the saw wasn't a complete loss. The thick, heady smell had been mostly covered up by the profuse smoking he'd been doing, but now it was so strong it was kinda nauseating. In a good way.

He took another long, deep draw of smoke but it didn't help any. So he didn't try a second time. Taking the half finished cigarette from his mouth, he dropped it and ground it out. The smell got worse, and he took it in like he would a drag. Had taken a small bit, but Hendrix' arm was slick with blood.

White, generally, wasn't all that blood crazy. He could sit there and watch someone get a paper cut without flinching, and he could stand by with some protest while someone bled to death. Just never really got to him as much as any other drug, he guessed. But he wasn't a goddamn rock; and he was damn near terrible with temptation. Especially if it was for a long time. Didn't have the endurance for it. And it always happened like this when he was working. Either he'd try to lay off the stuff for a bit so he wasn't as ready to have so small an amount or he guzzled the stuff before he started hoping he'd be fed up by the time red started to be the most common color. Didn't work either way. Just an all round weakness for him.

He didn't turn to pick out another tool, and yet he faced Hendrix gain as if he had. He'd need most of it. He knew that. Not even on the third tool yet, so he'd need a lot of room to bleed. Wasn't supposed to kill him either. Right, right... He had to make sure he remembered that.

White got a good handful of Hendrix' hair and yanked his head to the side. Taking one last, small smell of the sickeningly sweet scent, he bit down. Hard. No point in being nice. The guy's already ****ed up outta his mind. Not much else to spare him from. White forced himself to take it slow, so he wouldn't get carried away and bleed the sucker dry. Always was one of those struggles for him. Never knew when to quit.

But he made sure. He wasn't going to screw everything else up just to indulge. So he gave himself a good, long taste of that sweetness and then he left it alone. Automatically, he made his fingers relax and let Hendrix' head go; pulling himself away. Apparently he'd also got a good hold on his arm too, because his other hand was dripping and there were some pretty deep marks there. White considered this hand for a long minute... then he licked the fingers clean, taking out that red colored cloth and wiping them down.

He had stopped breathing. Probably the best thing to do for now.

"...Let's see...How about a drill next?"

Without much of that calm, steadiness he'd had before, White collected the parts and assembled them before starting. Wasn't terribly noticeable, but along with this lack of ease, he was moving a bit faster and he was shaking. Just a bit. Wore off after a while, but it was ****ing torture knowing he couldn't afford another taste.

Hehe... Torture.

[Iƪƪia]

By the time he was finished, Hendrix's foreign cursing and praying had become little more than a whispered chant. Screaming hadn't been doing him any good. No one would hear and no one would come rescue him anyway. All this was now was an instinctive reaction to the pain. That, and he couldn't handle much more of the silence. Sure, the saw had been making enough noise, but his world was still quiet, and that hurt almost as much as having his skin peeled off. Almost.

When the saw was taken away he didn't even bother to look and see what was next. What more could he do? What could be worse? It was stupid to ask himself these questions, of course, because things could always get worse, and with his luck they usually did. While getting an entire box of nails shot into you, having your skin ripped off, and being forced to suffer through this unbearable silence was horrible enough, he knew there were a few things that would be even worse.

And he had a feeling that he was about to experience one of those things.

All he could do was gasp in surprise as his head was pulled to the side and several razor-sharp fangs punctured his neck. This time, however, he didn't scream. Didn't do much of anything aside from making a dull whimpering sound. He found that he wasn't able to do much else at all. Far too disoriented to even think straight right now. See, what had gotten him so completely and utterly dumbfounded wasn't the fact that he was being fed off of by a vampire, it was that the vampire was touching his hair. Did these people hold nothing sacred?!

When White moved away, Hendrix let his head fall back, looking up at the ceiling. He was a little lightheaded, but otherwise okay. Aside from the fact that he felt completely and utterly violated. When he looked down again he noticed White began to assemble a sort of drill, feeling the tears well up in his eyes again.

In this moment, he felt nothing but a suffocating sense of hopelessness. However, this feeling was soon replaced by immense dread. Then relentless anger. Then these emotions began to cycle over and over again before he finally found that he was able to speak again.

"What the **** is wrong with you?! Why don't you just ****ing kill me?! That would solve your problems, right? It would solve all our problems! Just do it, damn it! Just kill me!"

Gasping for breath, he let his head roll to the side. He was feeling pretty much defeated by now. What more could this guy do to him? Actually, it was probably best not to ask.

[ωΘĿƒ]

Snapping the drill bit into place, White listened to Hendrix' next grovel. Except it wasn't a grovel. Kinda like a demand, a plea, and some hard feelings wrapped all up in one. Made him seem like he was at the end of his rope, the way he blew up like that; but White knew better. He had a lot of life left to waste. Wasn't even really in danger of bleeding to death - and he was generally good at telling those things. Hendrix was fine. ****er just needed to learn how to take a little pain.

White listened to Hendrix and didn't respond because he really couldn't. Needed to breathe to talk. So he didn't. Trying out the drill quietly with a quick tug, he just shrugged. Not much to say if he could talk either. Never had been one for words, so not like he could explain himself much. Hendrix had ****ed him off. He wasn't gonna hold a grudge, but he sure as hell was gonna make it so even thinking about touching one of his kids again inspired some negativity. Hopefully repulsion, some memories of his time down here. Put him off from ever doing somethin' so stupid again.

But no, why would he kill the guy? Wasn't all that big into killing things unless he was doing it to drink. Otherwise it was just a damn waste; didn't matter the reason.

Now, tapping the drill bit against his free hand lightly, White wondered if he was bein' such a baby because he had worked through that shot of his. Didn't know anything about Hendrix, much less what he looked like when he wasn't normal-looking. He'd heard about scales, so he'd had the sense enough to ask, but other than that he really didn't know much about the guy's tolerance to drugs.

Well he sucked at pretending to be drunk, but other than that...

Yeah. Probably time for another shot. Already suicidal and everything. White went back to where he kept the chemical section of the dungeon and prepped another shot for Hendrix. Didn't up the dosage because that'd either kill him or numb him. Both were bad things, so White stuck with the safe choice, not so worried about his reaction this time.

There. That'd shut him up for a bit.

White used the drill with about the same scattershot method that he had with the nail gun. Body again. That got a bit messy, but he avoided most of the spatter - and the rest he'd just have to deal with. Just made sense that by now he'd found a good way to get blood out of fabric. But the drill got boring real fast. Besides, he was running out of free space on Hendrix. Switched over to a belt sander and finished up the last arm, getting about as deep as the saw did but a bit slower. Easier to miss the arteries too. Was a nice, easy finish. Then White took his time picking up and cleaning everything off. Let Hendrix simmer for a bit. In the end, all that was left to show for the whole thing was a few small speckles on White's shirt. Well, that and Hendrix.

Between several power tools and the last bit of that shot, he shouldda been gentle as a rag doll. Still, payed to be careful. White grabbed him by the front of his shirt as he unhooked the chains that strung him up. When Hendrix was loose, he quickly picked the guy up and rammed him back against the slab. The chains rattled nice and loud. If he had any fight left in him, that probably got rid of it. Or coulda piled insult on top of injury. Either way.

White took a deep breath, the dank of the cell and that sickly sweet smell all coming back to him. Then he made sure Hendrix was still awake enough to listen to him.

"Sun's coming up. Got a few hours before anyone can pick you off, except me. But we're good now. I'm convinced you learned your lesson." There was a simple bluntness to this. but nothing cruel or angry. Then, almost kindly he added, "Get the nails out first. Don't want you to get an infection."

White dumped Hendrix somewhere nice and sunny, grimacing as he did, but it was about the only way he'd make it to night again. And then it'd be a waste if he didn't get up before then. Sometimes that happened, and wasn't much he could do about that. What could he say; you bleed you'd better be good at running. All there really was to it.

After all that, he thought he'd get something real to drink. ****ing thirsty work, he did. Sometimes he thought it just wasn't worth it.

Then he remembered; it's a chore. Couldn't help when it happened. Oh well... At least that was one less person he needed to worry about.

[Iƪƪia]

He ended up receiving no response, not that he had really been expecting an affirmative one anyway. If he was being tortured, he wasn't going to be allowed to die. That would be like letting him escape. It defeated the purpose of torture. The fact that he wanted to die meant that it was working. And of course he knew that once he did get out of this he wouldn't be able to bring himself to finish the job any longer.

He had regretted his words almost immediately after he said them for fear the pain would only get worse now. Instead, he was given a different reason to regret it, as he was injected with another dose of whatever the hell that drug was. He only shook his head sadly, feeling it take effect and proceeding to **** with his mind even more. On the one had, every last bit of that fear and apprehension that he'd felt was gone now, replaced instead by depression and hopelessness.

And still more pain.

The drill was bad enough, but the sander caused him to use the last bit of energy he didn't know he had to struggle against those chains. The held fast, however, he soon gave up his endeavor and slumped against the slab, only twitching in response to the sander scraping away the layers of skin.

He wasn't sure when it finally ended. It felt like that last bit alone had taken hours. However, it finally did end, leaving him to reflect upon the whole ordeal. For a short amount of time, at least. During the torture, the pain had only been focused in one area of his body at a time. Now, however, it all suddenly hit him at once, causing him to writhe in pain, sobbing and cursing openly.

He barely noticed as the chains were removed. It wasn't until he was slammed back against the slab that he noticed White was in front of him, holding onto his shirt.

Lightheaded, disoriented, and now unable to speak, he did his best to follow what White was saying, and nodding slowly in response. Yeah, he learned his lesson. He wasn't about to touch one of the vamps in this town again. Fine, whatever. Why was this place so ****ed up?! Why didn't he just take a hint and get the hell out of here already? He should - he knew he should - and yet he didn't. Why? No... He knew why. It wasn't much of a reason but he knew why by now. It was the same reason why he had decided to stick around even after his probation was over.

Whatever happened after that was a bit of a blur. Next thing he knew, there was sunlight. And a street and... A building? Or was that a fence? ****, maybe it was a tree. The world was just a mass of sickeningly exaggerated colors and he couldn't bear to look anymore.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he laid on his back - the least painful position there was. He had resigned himself to taking only shallow breaths, since every time he breathed deeply he could feel every one of the nails that had been jammed into his torso. When he wasn't focusing on that, he was overcome by the burning pain that had engulfed his arms.

Unwilling to even try to move, he concentrated only on breathing properly, which wasn't easy considering how he was still crying.

Although perhaps the greatest tragedy of all was the fact that he still found himself without any sort of weapon that would finally end his stay in this hell, and as he listened to them slowly returning to life he knew that he never would.