And that had not even been the first assault. Before Big D and his guys, all the prison guards who worked for me had also had fun with our poor guy. They were physically nicer than the thugs. But then, physical pain is only a part of the game – playing with their minds tends to get you so much further.
Sasha had to play nice now. Let the guy catch his breath. If only for a moment, before the next assault started. He gently untied the knots and let the guy free. "Hey. Hey man. You okay?" You could hear the tenderness in his voice. He was such a great actor.
Mr. Will stopped whimpering to look up at Sasha, taking his kindness for more nasty teasing. "Do I look okay to you?" He let out a whimpering sigh, maybe realizing his animosity wouldn't get him anywhere. "I'm anything but okay."
Sasha ignored it and proceeded to carry him to one of the shower stalls. "Hey. Some warm water may help you. Let me try to help, yes?"
They both sat under the streaming water, the poor idiot still whimpering. Sasha fell silent for a moment, letting the guy process – to some extent – what had just happened. "It's over now. Just breath, okay? … I'll take you to the infirmary later so they can check on you, make sure you're at least physically okay. But first you have to calm down, you know."
The guy sat in silence. The water from the shower washing away both memories and tears. Except those memories were the kind that will never ever wash away. I had made sure of that.
"Anyway," Sasha continued after a long pause, "lemme give you some advice, okay? You can't win this war. You can't win against Andrei. That's how it is. You're getting hurt for nothing."
The man's attitude changed. Will was back into the battle, with renewed strength. "I won't. I… I can't, no matter what."
Sasha sighed hard. "You're a stubborn one, huh? Look, I know you think you can take this. But you can't. Let me tell you. I've seen him do worse. And he'll do it. He always does that – literally whatever it takes to get results. There's no way in hell you can stand against him."
The guy looked at Sasha. "Why are you doing this. You're with him, stop messing with my mind." He tried to get up, but he was too beaten up for it. So he sat again, eyes closed. "No matter how you ask, no matter what you do, I won't."
Sasha got up, ready to leave. "There's a reason so many people swear he's the devil himself, you know." Soaked to the bone, he left the showers to met me in the observation room. "He's too stubborn, Andrei. He won't do it."
I didn't bother trying to hide the smile creeping into my lips. "Not yet."
- - -
A while later, we were back in the shower room. Sasha carrying the ghost of another man, one that had been through one too many days in hell – in this prison. He had no voice other than to say "please, please, no", in a barely audible whisper. … The target. Another idiot of a journalist who had though publishing classified files was a good idea. He had been charged with treason and sent here. Now that his minimum serving time was over, some human rights groups were campaigning for his liberation. I was going to make sure that didn't happen – loudly. Namely, he couldn't be released if he was dead.
Sasha sat him on another bench, while I grabbed Mr. Will and tossed him against the other guy. "Look what I brought you."
His voice betrayed him – his will was starting to falter yet again. "I – I swear I won't, no matter what you do."
I almost laughed out loud. "Oh, yeah. Right. You're too stubborn, aren't you?" I handed him a knife. "Spare yourself of this hell, man. Kill him already. Just cut his throat open. It will only take a few seconds."
"NO!! No, I will not!!" His eyes locked in the knife as if it was a venomous snake trying to bite him. To spread its poison through his veins, tainting his very soul. … And to a point, it would. Not the tool by itself, but the decision to put it to use.
"Go to hell." He mumbled between his teeth, probably louder than he had intended.
"Oh, but we're already in hell, my friend. Ask him." I pointed to the ghost with my head. "What's this if not hell itself? What could be worse than day after day after day of what you've gone through? Huh? … Let me tell you. Yes, I can indeed make it worse." I grabbed the knife. "Have you heard? It's an old Asian method, or maybe from the old Inquisition, I can't really remember. They called it the death by a thousand cuts." I let the knife rest lightly over his forearm. "See, I can cut all the shit I want, and as long as I don't let you lose too much blood, you'll survive. … Eventually, you'll die of blood loss, obviously. But it can take a REALLY long time." I let the knife slice through his arm, leaving behind a long, thin gash.
His scream echoed in the tiled room.
"And you think that's the worst? … Oh, no. Not at all. Skin cuts aren't that bad, actually. It's when you start with pieces that it gets nasty." I looked up at Sasha. "Show our friend, will you?"
Sasha could have been a robot. He drew a knife, forcefully grabbed the ghost's hand, and sliced one of his fingerprints off. The poor man couldn't even scream anymore, just started sobbing almost silently.
I gently smiled at him. "Sasha, I meant the whole tip, you know."
His voice was cool, yet almost velvety. "I thought we had the time to do it bit by bit." … Whoa, boy. Yeah, we do. I nodded at him to keep going on. ... He peeled the nail next. Then sliced the flesh under it, this time really slowly. And finally dug through the joint to pop up all that was left - a tiny bone.
All the time, our ghost was just crying in silence. Knowing all too well that trying to stop it was not just useless, but even counterproductive. Cooperating was always the best option – even under these circumstances.
I grabbed Mr. Will by his hair and made him look at me again. He had a trail of vomit running down his chin, up to a puddle by his side. Thank god he was on an empty stomach, else it would have stunk really bad.
"Look at me, you idiot."
"I won't fucking kill an innocent man, I swear."
"… You can swear all you want. You'll both share the same fate. Piece after piece. Until you're both lying dead on a pool of your own blood."
"I WON'T!"
"Not even to save him from hell, huh? … Even though his fate is written. Well, I can keep raising the stakes. Make it even worse. A piece every hour. First one will be bad enough. But think, you'll have a whole hour to think about the next one. And after that, another hour to keep thinking about all the blood there is, and about how much it hurts, and about whether it's a sign of infection. … Oh, I'll make sure it indeed is, just to add fuel to the fire, you know." I grabbed the knife again and sliced his pinkie's fingerprint.
My guess is he tried to scream something like "I fucking won't you fucking bastard", but it was completely unintelligible.
I couldn't help smiling. "And what do you think happens after the fingers are gone, huh?" I held his hand to the harsh light. "We'll have to move to the next bones." I let the knife trace them along the back of his hand. "These are tricky, man. But don't worry, I have more than enough experience to do it right."
He looked at me like he'd finally seen the devil. He was on the very edge, a step further and he'd finally break.
"… And then? … I've never gotten past there, you know. … I don't even know how you'll grab a knife if you have no hands. Guess we can tape it to your wrist. That is, until your arms are also gone, bit by bit. Or did you think you get to have one big bone cut off at a time? … Nah. Too much blood loss. Too fast."
One more step…
"Oh, and silly me. I was forgetting about the serum. They didn't have that in the old ages, but now we do. A unit every hour. Soon, that alone will be too damn much to handle. Add the hourly cut. … Told you we're in hell."
It was Sasha's turn to deliver the last blow. "Or you can skip all that, spare not only yourself but also an innocent man from all that pain. All it takes is a few seconds. A quick slash. … Save yourself, man. Save him. There's no winning against the devil."
