Chapter Five - Tortured Artists Are The Worst. Being Tortured Sucks.

All right, first things first. If second things came first, then I imagine it might get a little bit confusing because then would the first not become second, then the second become first, then the cycle would keep going, never ending, a lovely little paradox that would bring the world to its knees. Now that the boring part of my new life is out of the way, it's time to go exploring, time to have some fun.

And for this occasion, I made a little list of my top priorities:

Go get some food, for I am bloody hungry. Need to get drunk, celebrate my new found immortality. Learn some more skills. Rob a bank. Deliver a beat down to the Villains, Heroes and normals to create the beginnings of my new empire. Get Laid. (This would be the first thing on my list, but, I am not sure that laughing at the ladies would make the best introductions) Get Rich. Get Famous. Level up and become a literal God. Get Minions.

Yep, the top ten list is looking pretty good so far. I’m sure that I will be adding items to it as well as crossing others off.

Getting up off my arse, I stride across the floor, with a suitably imposing walk and open the door.

*Smack*.

Well, turns out, that number one should have been replaced with getting KO’d as soon as I opened the door

I don’t know where I am, but I know for absolutely bloody sure, that it is bloody uncomfortable and someone is going to bloody pay or bloodying up my starter clothes, even though I was going to get them replaced, there is the principle involved after all.

Waking up a little bit more, I seem to be sitting on a wooden back chair, the type with spindles at the back joined together a the top with a solid piece of wood. And my hands are bound behind my back, under the seat, between the legs. And speaking of legs, I think someone has definitely sprained my left ankle because it is killing me slowly.

“Argh, BASTARD!”

“Sounds like someone is awake at last. And to think a bad boy like you dropped from the little love tap I gave you. Your momma must be so proud.”

I can’t see who is talking, the voice is coming from around my back, in one of my blindspots, even though I am craning my neck as much as possible.

“What do you want? And why the FUCK did you punch me?” I asked in a very calm and reasonable voice, a tone of polite civility issuing forth. Okay, you got me, I was absolutely livid and unwilling to moderate myself, even with the dangers so evident.

With the sound of *Plink*ing droplets of water echoing down from the ceiling onto the bare cement floor, with rusty pipes decorating the edges, I could clearly hear the small sound of a barely suppressed chuckle from my captor. It had the quality of coming from a six foot 2, a hugely barrel-chested man with very large biceps.

“You know why you are here, little worm. You tried to kill the boss, and the boss doesn’t like it when people try to kill him. So here you are. Confess, and I will make your ending swift and relatively painless. Lie to me, and I will get down to brass tacks and make you confess. Trust me, I am very good at what I do.”

Shit, what do I do? It’s not like I can die, but I don’t want to spend the eternity in the white room bored off my ass. And I won’t get any additional stats. I will be starting from scratch. Not that I have made any great progress so far, but I don’t want a bounty on my head, being killed over and over, and spending even greater eternities in the white waiting room.

Although, I really do want to get to know the intricacies of the field of torture. NOT. But maybe if I can hold out long enough, I could get some interesting locked skills, escape, train, get revenge for the misunderstanding, and eliminate anybody who could possibly place a bounty.

“Why on earth do you think that it was me of tried to kill this ‘Boss’ bloke? I’ve only just arrived in America, I have barely had enough time to get some sleep, let alone trying to introduce another to the big dudes up there, or even old scratch.”

“We KNOW because we have a sketch from a witness of your ugly mug. Plus we tailed you to the motel. You are the only one in there that matches the description. Plus, you look like a tosspot who would try to kill the boss for a mere $5,000. Yes, we know who placed the hit, and we have taken very good care of him. Unfortunately, before we could have him identify you in person, he accidentally on purpose tripped and hit his head on a chair and died. No matter, I know that I have the right person. So, what do have to say for yourself?”

Well, for starters, fuck you. Secondly, I am still thinking of what to say to the outrageous accusation. The trouble is, no matter what I tell him, he won’t believe me, for he is a true believer in his own superiority. And if there is truly such a thing as insanity, it is trying to convince a Zealot that they are wrong, no matter the facts presented.

And I wonder who this ‘Boss’ person is.

I don’t know how long I kept up this train of thought, but apparently, it was enough to convince Mr Z that I was going to take the hard way out.

“Okay tough guy. Your decision. All you have to do to make the pain stop is to say ‘I did it mister nice man’, and we will be done here. Well, I will be done, you’ll be dead.”

…

What followed, I am not sure if you want to know, but seeing as I have to go through this, you can join me. After all, misery loves company.

The first thing Mr Z did was press a rag against my mouth and pinch my nostrils, making me take great lungfuls of whatever the rag was coated in, probably chloroform, it being the classic after all.

My next conscious thought registered that I was now again naked, sat in a very solid-seeming metal chair, but with metal restraints strapped around my upper forearm, just below the elbow and around my wrists, with a chain connected, hanging down from the ceiling.

My legs are also restrained just below my knee and ankles to the chair legs. My mouth is being kept open with an O-ring with a metal strap behind my head, digging painfully into my cheeks.

My second thought was that I was in my own bondage film/dream, and all that was needed was for my sexy, leather-clad mistress to show up and tell me that ‘You have been a bad, bad boy and need to be punished’ in a sultry commanding voice, whilst holding a flogger with a finger brushing her lip. Unfortunately, my mistress was on vacation, and her substitute was not appealing at all.

In stepped Mr Z instead. Mr Z was indeed a small giant of a man, but only six feet tall, but shaped like a shit brick house. And he was naked too. What the hell is with the nudity? I am starting to think that I am in a Gay Bondage episode instead.

“Well, maggot, last chance to tell me the truth... No? Oh well, time to get down to business. I love this part. First, the itinerary of tonight's performance. We will start with a limb dismemberment, followed by some light flaying, with some substances rubbed in the heighten the experience and to stop any infections from setting in.

“Next we move onto the acid etching, tattooing your body to tell the tale of your failure with the indelible ink of suffering. Then we have so rats who I will later introduce to nibble on some of your more personal extremities. If you still wish to remain silent, which I highly doubt, then I will start to take this session seriously.

“If by the end of tonight, you have not broken, then I will not kill you. No, no. Death you be too good for the likes of you. Instead, a surgeon will be brought in, to remove your arms, legs, eyes, ears, nose, teeth and any other sensory organ. Then he will connect life-giving instruments up to your dismembered body, where you will spend the rest of your life as little more that a lump of meat as an example.

“So, last chance!”

I really wish he would get on with it, theatrical bitch-face bastard. Suddenly, inspiration strikes. I hack up some phlegm and spit in his face. There, that we show him not to mess with me.

“Very well, let's begin.”

I think 30 minutes or so passed and I was now missing my right index and pinky finger and my left thumb and middle finger. He had also removed my fingernails with pliers and dribbled some kind of acid onto my genitals.

I feel no shame in admitting that I screamed like a little bitch and am now crying my eyes out. It HURT. A lot. Mr Z wasn’t smiling or laughing, sneering or wearing any expression at all like this was business as usual and he was having a cup of tea with his colleagues. I think that was the worst part. It might have been easier to deal with if I knew that Mr Z was a monster who enjoyed his work. But he was a machine, cutting, ripping, tearing, removing pieces of me.

And when he looked at me, I could see in his eyes that I wasn’t a person anymore, just an object which wasn’t behaving as it should, and he was the mechanic that was fixing me.

I tried screaming at him that I wasn’t the person he was looking for, that someone had made a mistake.

Mr Z took no notice.

When he had brought out the acid, I told him that I was the one who tried to kill his boss. He stopped, looked into my eyes and asked ‘How?’.

I told him, “I used a silenced pistol, and tried to shoot him in his hotel room”.

Mr Z snorted and went straight back to work.

I tried every conceivable story I could think of, but Mr Z kept on going. I don’t he cared anymore. He knew I was guilty, he was going to enact his vengeance.

I checked my health bar: 5/20. Fuck! How can I suffer this much damage and still have 5 health? But then again, nothing this guy was going was actually fatal, unless he managed to fuck it up and let me bleed to death, or something along those lines. This fucking sucks donkey ball!

*Sniff*

More time and torture passed, and I am missing quite a bit of my skin now. A little while ago I had fallen into some kind of stupor, I could no longer feel the pain of my demise. But a weird sensation has started, a type of peace, a corner of my mind where pain cannot enter.

“Fuck, I think it’s time to take a break. Take five minutes kid, when I come back, nap time is going to be over,” Mr Z whispered into my ear. He must have thought I had passed out. But maybe I was passing through to somewhere else. Or maybe falling, as it seemed to be beyond my conscious control.

As I fell into this corner, I could recognise the damage being done, but it was an analytical knowledge, just statistics and facts, no feelings or emotions, a perfect state of calm, an endless moment of Zen.

Congratulations! You have achieved a hidden skill. For enduring enormous stress, surviving and finding your centre, you have earned the skill:

Battle Meditation.

Battle Meditation allows the user to disable pain and emotional signals, entering a Zen state. Only available in times of stress. Increasing this skill will give additional benefits and be available outside of battle conditions.

On activation :

Pain Resistance : 100 %,

Mental Resistance : 100%,

Perception of time slowed : 50%

Healing Regen : +10%

Stamina : +50%

Congratulations! For earning a hidden skill whilst below Level 10:

X 3 Levels

Current Level : 5

+3 to all attributes

Health, Mana and Stamina have been restored from the special action!

Well, fuck me sideways. And all I had to endure whilst a bit of light bondage.

Suddenly I could feel strength surging through my body. I could feel my body fixing my wounds, and with a jolt, I lost my zone of concentration and fell out of my meditation. Pain suffused my mind as my body rapidly grew new skin, fingers grew back and my balls, well, they stopped trying to crawl up into my stomach.

At least I now know why Mr Z was naked from the get go. It appears I had both pissed and shit myself during my extended vacation. Being O’natural was probably a practical concern, although maybe he had thought of the psychological nature his el flagerante stance spoke of.

Unfortunately, I think that I am going to have to take a little nap now, the pain, well, I am kind of a wuss, so here goes me, bye bye.

I don’t know how long I have been out for, but it has to have been less than five minutes, seeing as how Mr Z still hasn’t come back. Or maybe it is a tactic that he is using. Tell me he will be five minutes, he takes 30, but when he comes back, he will tell me that my five minutes are up, lulling me into the false sense of misery that my mind is just torturing me for the hell of it.

I think that I am starting to babble now. Tell to make a game plan.

Since I am now level five, the extra stat gains have to mean something. I should be stronger, faster, smarter and some other things I am sure. I have to escape, otherwise, when Mr Z comes back in, he will see that I have healed myself, and I don’t know what he will do then. And I don’t fancy finding out.

First, let me try to break these metal cuffs.

*Creak*

Well, either I am not that strong even with the stat boosts, or these metal cuffs are the real deal and not some knockoffs. Plus the fact, that with the way my arms are bound, I don’t have to greatest leverage. I did feel some give to the bindings, but it I imagine it would take a fair while to get them to the point of breaking.

I try the same for the leg cuffs.

*creak*

Even worse, they hardly flex at all.

So, looks like I am going to have to try the old ruse trickery. I think I can re-enter the meditation thingy (technical term, I know) so maybe it will make him think that I am still unconscious and maybe he will make a mistake.

So I sit still, in my own shit that still lies on the chair, close my eyes and imagine myself falling into my safe space, the place where my worries and fears and pain disappear, leaving me in total control.

Nope, not working. I open my eyes to cast about for inspiration.

Thinking about it again, the skill did say something about stress (well, enormous stress, but who’s counting), so maybe I have to give myself a reason.

Again, I close my eyes, but this time, I imagine Mr Z coming back into the room, his massive schlong swinging like a pendulum between his legs, hung like a horse would be an insult to his… no, not going there with Mr Z. I imagine that as he is coming back in, he starts laughing with that low chuckle of his, he walks around to my field of view and picks up a scalpel hanging on one of the walls.

That seems to have done the trick, and I am so not going to tell you what I was hoping… ahem, no dreading that he was going to do to me. Pain, lots of pain.

This time, instead of falling, it feels like pulling a warm blanket around my mind, cuddling into its warm embrace. Maybe the difference in sensations comes from the willingness of activating the skill. Funny, usually there is some cost to use skills, like mana or stamina, or in rare cases like blood magic, health. But so far, there doesn’t seem to be a cost. Maybe because so far, Meditation is more of a mental state, and the other two are two things we all do, so is naturally tied into stamina.

Anyway, concentrating, I can feel my awareness of my body in its entirety, and although I don’t have a complete minuscule, to the atom, control, I do feel like I have a more conscious connection to it.

I try again to break my shackles.

*Groan* *Creek.

Definite improvement, now that I don’t have to deal with the agony of my flesh ripping and bones on the verge of breaking. Maybe this meditation isn’t so great as I initially thought. I still have to deal with the consequences of going beyond my natural limits. And with my pain receptors off, breaking myself will become that much easier, and if I tear ligaments and tendons, then no amount of willpower will be useful in moving limbs that can’t send or receive signals.

Two edged sword. Gotta be careful.

Shit, I think I can hear Mr Z coming back, those are definite footfalls coming from outside this room.

Taking a few seconds to calm my racing heart, I let my body go absolutely limp, boneless like I am still unconscious, but I keep my eyes slitted, barely enough to see with. Play for time.

The bastard is fucking whistling, a jaunty happy tune. Mother… no, stay calm, play dead.

I can hear a door behind me open, a couple of more steps, then the door closes with a soft bang. The footsteps are coming from behind around to my right, gently and calmly like he has all the time till he dies of old age. Well, not if I have anything to do with it, he won’t be leaving this room alive.

A shadow falls on my face, I think he is standing before me now. Seconds pass, which then becomes a minute as far as I can tell. I can hear his breathing; slow, but deep, like it is filled with anticipation, wanting to get on with his work. I can hear his breathing come nearer to my face, like he is trying to see if I am still unconscious.

Now or never, this is probably going to be the one and only chance to escape. Waiting, as what feels like eternities pass, his head comes nearer to my slumped one. I can feel his breath blowing into my ear canal.

Focusing everything I have, every last shred of strength, of speed, of will, I launch my head forwards, with my mouth open.

Luckily, I latch onto his left artery in his neck. And I bite down, hard. I dig my teeth in with a slight sawing motion, like when you are trying to tear off a piece of particular dried out beef with your incisors. And a split second later I can hear this massive shout, vibrating down Mr Z jaw, to his neck, through my attached mouth and into my ears. It kind of hurts, like a deep, deep bass that bypasses the sound waves to appear directly in your mind.

He was trying to pull away, whipping his arms forwards trying to gain some leverage, maybe to pry my jaws off. But then, I can feel this hot and delicious liquid surge into my mouth, coating my throat, chest, face and dangly bits. And it feels and tastes fantastic. So fantastic in fact, that I wrench my jaw open and immediately vomit a geyser of blood and some flesh onto the floor.

Fortunately, this seems to have caused an irreparable amount of damage, as his neck is spurting blood ten feet into the air. Mr Z is trying to stem the blood loss with his hands wrapped around the wound, but it doesn’t seem to be helping, as small spurts are still coming from between his fingers.

Slowly, but surely, Mr Z drops to his knees, and looks at me. And I can see the fear in his eyes, he is begging me to help him. But I take this opportunity to just smile at him, shrug, and gesture with my chin to my bound arms, as if to say, “I’m all tied up at the moment, no can do.”

Seconds more pass, and finally he collapses to fully prone. No more blood is coming from his neck in gushes, just a spreading pool, which happens to be pooling around my feet. I feel really icky. I am so going to need to shower, and maybe disinfect myself with bleach, or maybe an acid bath.

*Shudder*.

I start to shake, again losing my meditation state. The shaking feels like it is starting to go into full-time seizures, but not quite. I don’t know how much time has now passed, but it feels like it is enough that if any guards were coming from hearing Mr Z final death kneel, they should have been here by now.

Congratulations! You have killed your first sentient! Level Up.

Your current level is now : 6

+1 to all attributes.

+5000 exp.

For your first kill, please select your first combat skill you would like to unlock:

Dagger Mastery

Blunt Mastery

Blade Mastery

Bow Mastery

Staff Mastery

Well, as least I got something from my efforts.

Name Dude Guild N/A Race Human (Default) Affiliation N/A Gender Male (Barely) Disposition Exhausted Age 23 Years Level 6 Alignment N/A Experience Locked Strength 6 (Base 1) Wisdom 6 (Base 1) Endurance 6 (Base 1) Charisma 6 (Base 1) Dexterity 6 (Base 1) Luck 6 (Base 1) Agility 6 (Base 1) Mental Fortitude 100 Intelligence 6 (Base 1) Character Points 6000

Balance - 130/1000 Novice Tier

Sneak - 0/1000 Novice Tier

Battle Meditation - 300/1000 Amateur Tier

To Level up to Level 6, either Kill 2 Sentients, Steal $100 worth of loot, Unlock a total of 5 skills or Level Up 5 Skills to Novice Tier.