reanbeanmachine | This has spoilers for tocs 2 end game

Perhaps it's not enough for you yet.

[His fingers slide back down over Crow's cheek and lips before he stands.]

Let's try another dose. Though at this rate it will be many more than three hours before this is over.

[He's picking up another syringe from the table.]

Ah-- don't!

[He hates this. He absolutely hates this. He can't even take what's happening now, let alone more. He'd like to be stronger, but there's no room for anything but self-preservation in his drug-addled mind. He can't hide the terror.]

[He's returning with the syringe, lifting Crow's arm to inject him yet again. By now even that probably feels incredible.]

I wonder if this will have permanent affects. Though, it won't kill you, at least.

[He's not so sure about the "won't kill you" part. His heart is hammering so hard it feels like it's going to burst. But that's secondary to the pain and the need.

He was hysterical before, but now he's just completely losing it. It's far, far beyond too much. His pupils are dilated til there's only the thinnest ring of red around them, and he can't catch his breath for even a second. The sensation of the floor touching his skin is indescribably painful and indescribably amazing -- he's desperate to escape it but too weak to manage, and that leaves him continuously squirming as he tries. Every time he tries to move the sensations jolt up his spine, making him visibly jump.

He tries for a few seconds, but eventually it's obviously not working, so he ends up holding himself up on the edges of his palms, shaking and panting and unable to get his legs to behave enough to get under him properly.

He's pretty sure he's already come and it's not helping. Nothing is helping. He's crying and he's drooling a little and hasn't even noticed, because literally all he's aware of is that it's too much. Half the noises he's making aren't even words. They're just lewd gasps and pained whimpers, between incoherent begging for it to stop, it hurts, it's too much, he's going to die.

He forgot about pride somewhere in there where the wound in his chest started to feel less like an injury and more like an overstimulated erogenous zone.]

[It's fascinating and actually starting to turn the man on a little just watching Crow's humiliation and drugged degradation. He brushes his fingers over the shell of the young man's ear, already an erogenous zone for most without the help of so many drugs.]

Can you even speak now?

[He can make words but they sure aren't intelligent ones. He can't, however, process the question. There's nothing but tortured madness in his eyes, staring at the floor with complete lack of sense. He'll feel humiliated later but right now he can't even manage that. Things like shame are not essential to self-preservation.

That touch is also not helping. He actually yelps, violently flinching away from a spike of pleasure that's very much painful. He's not even trying to deny he's needy, it's just that there's no real difference between between good and bad anymore. It's all more than one person's nerves can handle.]

Don't-- I can't--

[It's a pretty enough picture. He's an attractive young man, tall and athletic and just nineteen. He didn't really look like a terrorist leader before, but he definitely doesn't now. He just looks like a wreck. Especially when he drops to his elbows, slowly collapsing back down under the weight of it all, head hanging and tears falling unceasingly as he softly calls for someone who isn't even here.]

Rean... help me...

No one will help you.

[The man caresses Crow's ear again, dragging his fingers down Crow's neck until the collar gets in th e way then moving to caressing Crow's spine.]

Though I wonder if your friend would recognize you like this. Would he even wish to help you in this state?

[Crow does look appealingly wrecked but it's not enough. It will never, really, be enough to satisfy him, but for now watching Crow's pride disappear while he pants on the floor like a whore is a good start.]

[Being touched feels like heaven and like having red-hot steel dragged across his skin at the same time. He reacts accordingly -- pained cries that trail into needy moans, as his muscles convulse. He wants to crawl away but he's shaking too hard to move. Trying gets him back up onto his hands for a half second, but then he slips and ends up on his face. Which also feels terribleamazing, so his breath catches and he chokes on it.

Since trying to move is making it worse he stays down. The floor is still too much though so he's hiccuping til he coughs, face pressed to the floor, fingertips pressed against the concrete and his back arched as he tries not to let his hips touch the floor. He could not care less what it looks like as long as it's just a little easier on him.]

Stop-- [Don't touch him it's unbearable.] Please stop!

[At least he's so out of it the words aren't sinking in.]

[Of course the pleas do nothing, at least for Crow. They do make the man smile, and he pulls the hospital gown up, exposing Crow's back entirely and caressing him again, bare skin on skin. Just trailing his fingers down Crow's spine.

After petting him a little he starts picking up the orbments, fastening then once more to Crow's skin, touch lingering with each.]

[Crow isn't coherent but he's conscious enough to know where this is going. There's nowhere to escape to, so the begging just increases, frantically, as he weakly tries to push the man's hands away without jostling himself too much.

It's absolutely desperate. He's lost every last bit of his earlier defiance.]

Nononono--

You begin to understand your situation.

[The man pats Crow on the head and then stands, uses his foot to turn Crow into his back so his face is most visible when he activates the first electric shocks.]

[Honestly Crow's dangerously close to fainting. For just a moment when it starts he blacks out, twitching and spasming but not actually fully conscious for it. It's more than his body can handle. It has been for awhile.

He's screaming now but he can't hear himself. He can just hear his heart hammering in his ears, and his mind's too scrambled to focus on anything else. It's instinct to try to pull the things off, so he's doing that too, but the chains only give him so much reach and there are too many signals crossing eachother for him to have any grip.

There's so much hitting him at once he hasn't realised he's gotten off again. It doesn't actually relieve the pressure. It's just getting him sticky with more than sweat, which doesn't register compared to the rest.]

[This is the kind of suffering that is truly satisfying. Crow is given a break from the electricity, allowed to shakily pull at the orbments ineffectively.

The man crouches next to him, turning Crow's face so he can examine it.]

Before we continue, have you got anything to say?

[He can't gather his thoughts enough for an intelligent response. What is he supposed to say? He doesn't remember. He has enough awareness to grab the man's arm and squeeze, but not enough to actually try to pull the hand from his face. He's not sure that's what he wants anyway. At least a gentleish touch feels more good than bad. Maybe he should lean into it instead.

Yeah he's doing that. Not with any conscious decision but simply because even though it's painfully overwhelming, it's better than the shocks.

His only answer to the question is a slight headshake. He's not trying to be defiant, he just can't formulate a response and he's afraid of saying the wrong thing.]

[He smiles, letting Crow lean into the touch, even stroking his face. Robbing him off any dignity is just as satisfying as seeing him suffer, both are vengeance but not nearly enough.]

I suppose words must be difficult for you right now. I'll give you give minutes, if you can beg for forgiveness I'll go easier on you, I can be merciful. If you can't I'll simply assume you continue to lack repentance.

I--

[He doesn't repent, though. He's not sorry for doing it. He is, however, really damned sorry he managed to piss off this kind of person. Even if he weren't, right now he can't even imagine holding onto pride. His muscles are still twitching from shocks, his whole body is trembling with sensory overload, and he can't make sense of up or down, let alone right or wrong.

Just existing is too much. He wants to claw his skin off but that'd just make the dizzying painpleasure worse. He wishes his heart would stop. It feels like it's on the verge of it already.

He tries, out of residual resilience, to sit up. Putting his hand on the floor and pushing is in itself agonizing, and he whines shakily, but he does manage to get slightly up off the ground. Slightly, before moving is too much. Every brush of cloth and chains sends a jolt down his spine. The rough concrete pressing into his hand is like pushing against needles. It feels like his body is devouring itself. Like there's molten metal in his veins, and even that feels good.

He can't make it. He folds within seconds, hitting the floor again and curling in on himself even though it's not protecting him from anything at all.]

I'm sorry...

[He'll be a pain again later. Right now he just can't. He'd do nearly anything to make it stop.]

[It's nice, honestly. Mercy is hardly going to be merciful but it will feel better than his other plans at least. He gestures to the waiting helpers, staying beside Crow as more people crowd around and start touching him, pulling his clothes aside.

Hands roam across his skin and haul him up between them, spreading his legs as someone settles there, more men around him taking their dicks out and getting Crow's shackled hands and lips in on the action.]

[This is not the mercy he was looking for. Not at all. Touch is torture, but Crow doesn't have the strength to do more than try, weakly, to wriggle away from it. He can't, though. Moving away from one hand presses him against another, which feels amazing, and he's crying hysterically again in moments. He needs this so badly but he hates it just as much.

Being afraid, feeling violated, those feelings are definitely there, but they're second to sheer physical suffering. He's aware enough not to claw or bite, lest it makes things worse, but he's not really thinking about humiliation. He's just reacting to sensation, the assault on his nerves that's all mixed up and confusing and overwhelming any scraps of sanity he can find in himself.

He can't beg with his mouth full but the urge is still there. The problem is, this particular torture has him unsure whether to beg for it to stop or beg for more.]

[It helps, sort of. It at least relieves pressure, feeds the need Crow is suffering. It doesn't quite help enough, but it's good in a physical way normal sex never could be, good in an artificial and enhanced way, but empty of anything but malice.

He's passed around like this for a few hours, at some point electric shocks are introduced into it again, some number of hours later.]

[He does, ultimately, end up begging for more. He also does actually pass out, more than once, if only for a few seconds. It's incredibly good but that's too much, too. And when he starts to regain awareness knowing it's good just makes him even more miserable. He's going to remember it -- some of it fuzzily, but he knows very well what happened and how he caved.

When they're done he feels like so much gutter slime. He's beyond exhausted, beyond traumatized, and even when the drugs wear off he can hardly move, just because his whole body is so completely worn out. He has no voice left to whine -- he lost that an hour or two ago -- but even if he had one he wouldn't be complaining. He feels too awful. Too humiliated, and hurt, and scared, and vulnerable. He's finding himself so utterly terrified of more that he's just making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. As if by staying down, keeping his face hidden in his arms on the floor and only breathing as shallowly as he can, he'll avoid further harm. As if he isn't entirely aware that this whole sick situation was designed specifically for him, and that these people want nothing more than to hurt him as much as possible.

He wants to be rescued right now. It's a pathetic thought that he's cursing himself for. Crow is strong. He does things on his own. He doesn't need Rean, or Vita, or anyone, to get where he wants to go. Normally, anyway. Right now being alone feels hopeless and horrible, and as much as he wants to stand by himself he knows he can't. He's stuck. So he really wants to see them, with such intensity that he almost starts to cry again. He doesn't, though. If nothing else he's determined to control any tiny bit of himself that he can. He couldn't not react before, he can't stop these people from doing what they want to him, so he's fiercely determined to grab onto any little scrap of agency left.

That's basically just the whole not crying thing though. The rest is out of his hands.]

[He's left to wallow in his misery and gross filth for a while, and then more hands drag him up and strip his bandages, he's hosed down, though not so roughly his wounds will open, dried and wrapped in blanket. Clothes would require unshackling him, and it's not like he needs the dignity of being covered, just given enough warmth to keep from getting sick.

He's left with cold soup and water in a wooden bowl and cup, no spoon, and once again he gets to spend some time alone on his chains to recover from the events of the day.]

[The blanket and food feel nothing but insulting. He doesn't want to be taken care of by people who're going to undo it all tomorrow. He wants to throw it all away, but he doesn't actually want to die. He wants to believe that with all their stubbornness and power, his friends will find him. Rean will burst in with Class VII behind him, or Vita will pop out of nowhere, or if he's lucky someone will bomb the whole building-- Okay yeah he'd be fine with dying as long as these fuckers go with him.

None of that has happened yet though, so he grudgingly downs the soup and water and huddles under the blanket. On the bright side, he's so exhausted it's not too hard to sleep. In fact he's out the instant he lets himself relax a little.]

[He's woken at some point, no windows make time hard to track. But the men are back, and he's being pulled up and out of his cage.]

Do you feel more repentant today, criminal?

[It makes him feel pathetic, but he hangs on to the blanket even when he's pulled on. He's still sore and worn, so his legs are wobbly and he'd really just rather go back to sleep.]

Do I look it?

[It'd be wiser to just agree, but being agreeable didn't help yesterday. They weren't any less cruel, so why should he debase himself even more? Unfortunately he can't really look cool when he's clinging to a blanket and his voice is a tired rasp.]

I see mercy is wasted on you.

[That's fine. Crow is even left with his blanket for now as the man arranges things on a table.]

You will not be given a second chance to repent today.

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