Times like this, being a Gamma definitely has its drawbacks. When I say "times like this", I'm referring to being chained to a wall and tortured by a psycho rogue for information. And when I say "tortured", I mean being whipped with silver cords soaked in wolfsbane, after my tongue had already been ripped out of my mouth for refusing to tell him secrets about my Pack. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have called him a Tiny Dick Tom.

I don't remember all of the details on how I got captured in the first place, but he probably got the jump on me using whatever supernatural ability he was Gifted with.

"I said, HOW MANY PACK MEMBERS DO YOU HAVE?" Tiny Dick Tom screamed while pressing a knife against my jugular.

I raised one eyebrow and motioned my head towards the corner of the room where he threw my tongue after ripping it out, as if to say, "You ripped out my tongue, dude. How am I supposed to answer your questions now?"

He was not amused with my nonverbal attitude, and sliced a chunk of the top half of my ear off in retaliation.

Obviously, I was in pain. But, this wasn't the first time I've been tortured and he honestly wasn't a very organized torturer to begin with. Very sloppy work, if you asked me. When I torture rogues, I always start off with the smallest torturing devices before escalating, so they know the punishment will only get worse. He was all over the place with the levels of violence he was inflicting, and it was not a very effective way of gathering intel. Not that anything he could do to me would make me tell him anyways, but c'mon, at least torture me properly?

The only thing he had done properly was making sure to bind my wrists tightly so I couldn't use my Gift. With my Gift, I had the ability to conjure up weapons at will. He definitely would have been fucked if I was able to summon a sword, or fuck, even scissors would work at this point.

He threw the chunk of cartilage next to my tongue, adding to the appendage collection courtesy of yours truly, Ares Alstott. I know, Ares seems a little "on the nose" for such a violent person, but hey, I didn't name myself.

"If I get you a pen and paper, do you promise to write down the number of pack numbers you have? If you do that, I will feed you" he bargained, realizing it was his only choice, as torturing clearly was not his forte.

I smirked inwardly. He doesn't realize how truly lethal I can be with a pen. I nodded, but not before spitting blood that had accumulated in my mouth in absence of my tongue at him. He slashed the knife at my face, slicing my right cheekbone, narrowly missing my eye. Thankfully, he didn't go for my good eye, as my left eye already was scarred from a previous "rough day at the office". I know it appears that there's not an inch of me that hasn't been brutalized, and it appears that way because it's true.

He turned away and left the cellar, and returned a few moments later with a piece of white paper and a Bic pen. Couldn't even spring for a nicer pen, could ya Rogue? Whatever, if he wants to die by Bic pen, that's on him.

He put the pen in my right hand that was chained to the wall, and held the paper near it for me to write on. Unfortunately for him, I am a strong werewolf, and did not hesitate to shove the Bic pen through his palm until it went out the other side of his hand.

I yanked it out as he stumbled backwards, clutching his hand. Chill out dude, I only put a pen through your hand. It's not like I ripped your tongue out or anything.

I then threw the pen as hard as I could, even though I could barely move my wrist. It impaled him in the forehead, and he fell to the ground by my feet, dead.

I used my feet to grab the keys in his pocket, and flung them up into my right hand. I then unlocked both bound hands from the chains.

Tiny Dick Tom left my boots by the door, and after putting them on, I looked back at his lifeless body.

Maybe Bic pens weren't so bad after all.