In the morning, the guards come and pull Clyde out of the holding room. He did not resist, and followed their gestures and commands. They pushed and pulled him through a long hallway and up large stairs. He noticed the walls turned to white as they became adorned with paintings and trinkets. While walking through, they pass two striking women leaving a room. With a quick glance in the direction they left, Clyde sees an old, fat man sitting on a bed, drinking wine leisurely.

One of the guards notices Clyde's peeking, and quickly forces his head down.

They took Clyde into a room and placed a collar made of iron on his neck, then left.

Clyde tried to break the chains in vain, as they were too strong. He was left there waiting, for hours. His nerves ate at him, and he tapped his foot to release some pent-up energy.

Finally, a man in a tuxedo came in, with a woman striding along with him.

They talked back and forth, but again, Clyde could not understand a single word they said. As they spoke, Clyde studied the woman. She was wearing a smooth black dress that hugged the lines of her body. Warm, red hair trickled down her shoulders, a staff on her back. When Clyde’s gaze reached her face, he let out a soft gasp. She looks like Ms. Smithy…

The woman approached Clyde and examined him closely, scanning over his well-built body. She grabbed his hands and touched the calluses, which formed after years of training historical martial arts.

She then said something in parting to the man, and waved while leaving the room. With this, the man became visibly happy. He unchained Clyde from the floor and led him to another room, humming while doing so. As they went through the building, Clyde noticed that the interior changed once more while passing through a door. The walls went back to the exposed stone, as Clyde was taken inside a plain room. Inside was a table, chair, and seats. Instruments resembling medical equipment were strewn on the table.

The man in the tuxedo strapped Clyde into the chair, and left. His heart begins to race, as he can only think back to all the horror movies he watched involving barbaric scenes of torture. Oh, God. Oh my God, what’s going on!

A short while goes by and a large man with tattoos all over his body walks in. He looks at Clyde and speaks in his foreign language.

This is it… I’m gonna die… This guy is gonna kill me!

He then pulls out a needle and tattoo pen, and says to Clyde, “Tatuao.”

Clyde looks at the tools, then back to the man. Unsure, he asks, “Are you… Going to give me a tattoo?"

The man drinks what looked to Clyde like a type of potion. Then, he prepares his tools as Clyde watches. After a moment, the man adjusts Clyde to be face down in the chair, and he begins tattooing the backs of Clyde's ears.

Clyde bites his cheek and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. After a few minutes, he is able to tolerate the repetitive stabbing of the needle.

It is then that Clyde notices that the man is making noises.

Is he singing?

The man sings with the rhythm of the drumming needle. While he sings, Clyde can hear words in English every once in a while, just spotted here and there. Curiously, Clyde could only hear the English in his right ear, the one being tattooed. As the tattoo progressed, the English words increased in frequency.

Clyde became nauseated hearing the man’s voice in two languages, as it was disorienting.

After some time, the man adjusts his seat to Clyde’s left ear, and begins the process over again. Slowly, Clyde starts to understand the words that he was singing. His pain seemed second now to this strange phenomenon taking place.

Clyde sits up slightly after the man finished his left ear. “Why can I understand you now?”

The man looks at Clyde. “I can’t understand you yet. Put your head back down.”

Clyde does so, and the man adjusts Clyde to be face up. He then straps his head down firmly.

Clyde’s anxiety returns. “Wait, wait. Why are you strapping my head? What are you going to do to me?!”

The man pulls out a contraption and forces it into Clyde’s mouth, clamping his tongue with it. He pulls Clyde's tongue out as far as possible and uses the device to snap it in place, keeping it held out.

Clyde grunts in pain as tears well up. It felt as though his tongue would be ripped out.

The man then began to tattoo Clyde’s tongue, singing to the tapping of the needle once more.

Clyde tried to shift his whole attention to the tattooer, to take his mind off the pain. While tattooing his tongue, he could tell that the man was putting 100% of his focus on the tattoo. Every tap had more focus than any sword swing Clyde had ever threw. He admired the man's skill and concentration, even with the pain of the needle piercing his tongue.

As the man finished the tattoo, he took another needle from the table, one that was separated from the others and pricks Clyde with it. Not long after, Clyde blacks out.

~

The man starts hitting his back to wake him. Clyde wakes up laying on his stomach and his constraints released, He mutters nonsense as he comes to.

“Do not speak a word,” the tattooer warned. He then shoved a cloth full of herbs into Clyde’s mouth.

“That will help it heal, and stop the circle from being broken.”

He then rubbed Clyde's ears with a salve. Thankfully, Clyde felt a cooling sensation on each tattoo. The tattoos themselves no longer hurt- only his tongue was sore from the pulling.

Clyde tried to talk, but the man interjected.

“Shhhh, do not speak a word. It must heal, or otherwise it could destroy the circle by creating scar tissue. And to waste a giant's tongue would be a shame."

Clyde tries to mumble something again, but the man smacks him on the head.

“I said shut it.”

Clyde, shocked, nods his head.

“Good. I will go get the guards.” The tattooer leaves the room and two men come in shortly after to unshackle Clyde. They grab the chain attached to his collar and lead him on once more.

One of the guards gestures to Clyde with his thumb. “This fucker is lucky. I was going to give him one hell of a beating tonight.”

“Well, don’t touch him now. If we hurt him, it’ll be our heads rolling.”

“I can’t believe that bitch spent that much money on this curr. He’s just a skinny little pup!”

He kicks Clyde in the shin. Clyde winces from the pain.

The other guard smacked his partner upside the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you! Don’t do that. You know what will happen to us if we do anything to him.”

“Fine.”

The guards fall silent, shoving Clyde into a guest room after a bit of walking. They remove his collar.

The agitated guard changes his demeanor, and bows low, sarcastically saying “I hope you enjoy the accommodations.” He spits on Clyde's feet.

They leave and lock the door behind them. It makes a loud click.

Clyde lays on the bed after wiping the spit off with the sheet. Everywhere he sat yesterday and today had been hard and uncomfortable- even the airliner. But the bed was soft and comforting. The sheets were silk, and he hadn’t experienced such a luxury in his new surroundings. He loses himself in the comfort of the bed, and drifts off to sleep when his exhaustion overcomes him.