reanbeanmachine | This has spoilers for tocs 2 end game

[Yeah it definitely hurts. It's not at rick of opening and bleeding out at this point, but Crow's body is still tender and inflamed and generally unhappy. He reacts to the pressure with a hiss, squirming to attempt to avoid the touch and testing his bonds at the same time.]

That's what being a hospital patient means! Who the hell are you anyway?

[The man ignores Crow, turning towards the door.]

I think we can begin, start setting up.

[At least Crow is let off from wound poking, as a few people enter with tables and equipment, some of it is familiar, like the orbal recording equipment used at his rock concert. Other stuff is odd, like a bathtub. Other stuff still is more questionable, but Crow has plenty of time to find his shackles are impossible to get off while they set up.]

[This is getting increasingly concerning. Crow definitely does his best to get free, with greater urgency the more he sees brought in. He might be a littttle bit scared now.

He could question them, but that's probably pointless and will just make him look stupid or frightened. So he doesn't. He just strongly considers trying to dislocate his thumbs.]

[The man watches the others for a while then looks down at Crow, smiling just slightly.]

You won't escape justice. But it would be a little disappointing if you didn't try.

[Whatever preparations were needed seem about done, because the man is reaching to attach Crow's shackles to each other and unlock them from the bed, grabbing Crow by the hair before he can run.]

[Oh, great, "Justice". Crow knows better than anyone how subjective that concept is. The only difference between justice and revenge is self-righteousness, as far as he's concerned, and he's well aware how easily blurred that thin line is.

He never pretended his own actions were really just. He probably shouldn't be surprised karma's catching up with him. But he's still going to struggle. Maybe he can get an elbow into the man's ribs.]

Sorry, but it's not you I'm worried about disappointing.

[He might get an elbow in but the man barely reacts, he feels solid as a steel wall. Which is why he can so easily drag Crow out of bed by the hair, forcing him to look at the cameras.]

Introduce yourself, terrorist.

Fuck off.

[He can be forced to look but he can't be forced to talk. Probably this is no surprise to anyone here, but Crow is a pain in the ass. Also, crude. He's making a rude gesture too.]

[That earns him a sharp yank, forcing his head at a rough angle. The man starts talking in a calm voice but with an undercurrent of rough passion, self righteousness.]

This man, Crow Armbrust, AKA C, leader of the criminal organization "the imperial liberation front", assassin, terrorist, will be in these recordings punished for his crimes against his country. The punishments will be submitted by those with grievances against the man, and justice will be served as every one who suffered by his actions is avenged on his flesh. We have undertaken to be the executors of these punishments. I will read the first.

[He drags Crow forward and picks up a piece of paper, reading it.]

Death by drowning.

Death we cannot give, it would unjustly release him from penance, but we will see to it that he serves this sentence all the same.

You may repent now, criminal, if you have the grace to do so.

No thanks.

[He isn't sorry anyway. He won't deny what he did, or that he might deserve whatever's about to happen, but he doesn't regret his actions. He did what he wanted to do. He is sorry for the effect it had on unrelated people, but... not enough to cooperate here.]

You know this is really creepy, right? What kind of fetish are you trying to appeal to?

The desire for closure for those lives harmed by your actions.

[That way too calm and sincere answer is all Crow gets before he's dragged to the tub and his his knees are kicked out, forcing him to kneel beside it.

There is no ceremony, the man uses the hand in Crow's hair to force him forward, bending him until his face his the water and then further so he's submerged to his shoulders. And he's kept there, no matter how he struggles the man is brutally strong and utterly unmoveable.]

[He absolutely struggles, as hard as he can. He was willing to die fighting, but this is altogether too annoying to just accept. He doesn't care if he looks stupid, getting filmed thrashing around still dressed in hospital clothes and bandages. He just cares that it'd be frustrating to die to this kind of sick vigilantism when he was finally going to go home with Rean.

He doesn't want to make all that chasing meaningless. So he holds his breath as long as he can, til he's seeing spots. He fails to free himself, however, and eventually there are the tell-tale bubbles of air escaping his lungs.]

[He is held until his struggles get weak and then he's dragged up, held so he can cough up the water he inhaled and get a deep breath or two before his face is shoved back under the water, not quite as long but still long enough to inhale water. And then it's repeated again. And again. Continuing for an hour, almost drowning, but never quite let to pass out.]

[Once is more than enough as far as Crow is concerned. He wants to protest, but he only has time to, entirely reflexively, gasp for air when he's dragged up. By the time 20 minutes has passed his still-damaged chest hurts like he's dying again. By an hour he's not even thinking coherently. He's been reduces to instinct, just trying to survive.

He's been through a lot, but torture is not on that list. He'd be surprised how much harder it is to handle than he'd assumed, if he were aware of anything but the agonizing need to breathe.

It actually takes him a moment to register he hasn't been shoved back under. When he does... he starts laughing. Laughing and coughing and gagging all at once, even.

He's about to puke.]

[He's dropped on the floor while he had his hysterics, things happening around him. The bed has been removed, in its place is an animal cage, the kind you might hold a tiger in. Too sturdy for any one person to hope to move or escape from. The cameras are still rolling, but the man is picking up chains and a collar, kneeling to fasten them to Crow then walk the other end over to a iron ring in the floor, leashing Crow.]

[He can't really criticize. He knows what self-important vengeance feels like. He would like not to be the object of it, though.

Nothing he can do about that right now though. At least when he does throw up he manages not to roll into it. That's talent right there, given that his body feels like jello and his chest feels like someone's stabbing him in the ribs every time he inhales.]

Hey. I want a cut of your sexy record sales.

[Yeah the sass isn't over.]

Your lack of reflection on your actions is noted.

[He's being picked up by the hair again and dragged into the cage.]

You will spend the night like this, and be given another chance to reflect on your misdeeds. Tomorrow, we begin in earnest.

[The cage is locked and the filth rinsed away, but Crow is not given any way to eat or get dry or sleep comfortably. It's a cold, miserable night, and the chains and bindings are thick and well made, impossible to slip.]

[He really doesn't want to know what's coming tomorrow. On the upside, worrying about that makes it easier not to think about what's already happening.

He couldn't sleep if he wanted, so he spends most of the night contemplating, and trying, potential escapes. The chains are heavy, and he's cold and damp and sore, but he tries his hardest to get free. All that accomplishes is making noise and bruising his own wrists, unfortunately.

By morning hes drifted into an exhausted doze, curled up defensively in a corner and shivering a little. It's cold. He's not in any risk of dying but he isn't all the way healed yet, either, and sitting around damp and stressed is inching his temperature up and making him nauseous.]

[Asset some hours the man and his helpers return, opening Crow's cage and dragging him up.]

Have you contemplated your crimes, terrorist?

[He resists just on principle. He doesn't really want to be, y'know, in a cage, but he also doesn't want to be manhandled, so he digs his heels in.]

I've contemplated your awful hospitality.

[Resistance just means he's being handled more roughly.]

Very well. It wouldn't matter in any case.

[He drops Crow on the floor, holding his hand out, the other members of this little revenge team handing him a number of devices that he starts fastening to Crow.]

We'll continue from yesterday.

[He'd rather be treated roughly than know he's being agreeable, so has has no regrets in struggling. In fact he's trying to jerk away from these mystery devices, too.]

Not interested. Get your hands off me!

[He doesn't care about anyone's revenge fantasy. Bad things happen all the time. His own actions weren't really justified, but in that vein neither is this.]

[Naturally he's being ignored, his hands yanked up by the shackles to get them out of the way as the devices are attached to his skin,]

And now we'll begin, criminal.

[Still holding his arms up, the man presses a switch, activating the orbments and sending shocks through Crow.]

[Crow continues to be difficult even when he's being so well restrained. He's strong enough to be hard to hold onto, but even so he utterly fails to escape.

That's disheartening in itself, but he's too busy trying to get away to be discouraged. And then the switch is flipped and he's too busy screaming.]

[The man smiles, but it's a cold agile. Satisfaction, not happiness. He lets go of Crow, and steps back. When it oils like Crow might pass out he turns the switch off and gives him two minutes to recover.

But then it begins again. It's methodical, and Crow is given only two minutes between each set of shocks.

The actual intensity of the shocks, however, varies greatly. As does the duration. It lasts an hour, like before, but this time after the hour is up the man gestures to one of his helpers and activity starts at one of the tables.]

So criminal, how do you feel?

[He feels like he looks: tired and in pain, twitchy, collapsed in a pile and pressing his face to the floor just for the grounding sensation of cool concrete against hot skin.

If he felt like jelly yesterday, now he feels like pure mush. None of his muscles want to respond to him. Everything burns. And he's emotionally twitchy as well. The off-and-on pain just leaves him bracing for the next blow now that it's stopped.

And he knows there's going to be one. That's about all he does know about this situation. Still, he endeavours to be cool, even with all his nerves blaring warnings.]

Pissed off, that's how.

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