Adam wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. The starvation, the dehydration, the pure exhaustion that wracked his limbs was enough to make him black out. Every time he opened his eyes, there was a new figure crouched beside him, some encouraging him to hold on, and others telling him to let go and wither away. Adam was never a quitter, not until he lost Lilla. He had always been a fighter, had always encouraged and pushed his body to hang on for just a little bit longer, and it had almost always obeyed. But now his muscles hung limply on his shoulders, the feebleness of his body disgusts him, not that he has much conscious time to ever focus on it. The most comfort he receives is from Ian’s visits, where he encourages him just to hang on for a bit longer, desperately assuring him that help was on the way, and that he would be alright. Though the voice of his father told him otherwise, Cale whispering in his ear, goading him into believing he was pathetic, that all of his “heroic” actions had gone to waste, and that Adam was merely the Capitol’s new bitch. Adam knew part of this was true, that he was allowing the Capitol to get to him, allowing Snow and the doctor and even Rochester to get under his skin to torment him. Kingston had never even managed to get under Adam’s skin that way, and he was the one that had left Adam with most of his scars. Compared to Rochester, however, Kingston would have been a blessing. They no longer kept Adam tethered to the wall, as he had no strength to even attempt to fight back or run away. He thought of Mac and Micah again, wondering if they were enduring the same kind of hell that Adam was. Somehow he doubted it, and the only thing that truly worried him was if he became too weak to take blows for them, like he had already done for Mac. The gas had tormented Adam for days, he could hardly see straight without feeling as though he were back in the grave, the hands of the bodies clasping onto his clothing, tugging him deeper within their grasp, sucking every ounce of life out of him. His father’s presence always made it worse, as his face never formed to the way it was before Adam had killed him. No, instead it was always the taunt skin stretched tightly over his skeleton figured face, his mouth hung off to the side slightly, from where Adam had bludgeoned it with the hilt of the knife, but a cold, deathly tinge to his skin, blended with bits of yellow and white. Sometimes Adam tried to ignore him, to tune out the taunts of his pathetic failures, but in the end, all he could do was absorb them.
Had the chain around his ankle not been so short, Adam was certain he would have attempted to off himself by now. During moments of pure agony, when he was sure he couldn’t bare it any longer, Cale would always appear at his side, mocking him. He would nod in encouragement as Adam struggled to pull the chain from the wall, telling Adam to come to him, to become just like him. His friends would die here in the Capitol, and Adam would be to blame for it once more. Sometimes the inability to pull it from the wall was the only reason he was capable of stopping, but sometimes his little brother would show up, hug him until the demon faded, and then he would disappear as well, and Adam was unsure if he felt relieved, or only more void. He clung to himself those nights, or days perhaps…time was irrelevant here. He no longer cared about looking weak when he was alone, when the voices would stop speaking to him, but he was never able to cry. For one thing, he would not allow himself to succumb to tears, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he could even produce them. So he would sit in utter silence, his face buried in his knees and his fingers clinging to his tattered clothing. Sometimes he sang to himself, unaware of the lack of sound coming from his throat, but the words still forming on his lips, giving him some solace, as he could hear the song in his head, despite nothing coming from his mouth. If there was any presence in the doorway, it was merely to throw him some water, sometimes small pieces of bread, just enough so that he didn’t wither away completely. He wondered once more if the others were being treated like this, as Mac had looked much healthier than Adam when he had last seen him…however long ago that may have been. Burns had coated his skin, but he still had some muscle retention, unlike Adam whose body had almost completely fallen apart. For this he was grateful still, willing to take all of the brutal punishment if it meant that the two others had any chance of escape. Sometimes he thought of Melody, knowing he had seen her getting dragged onto a hovercraft bound for the Capitol, but somehow doubting that she was truly here.
Adam is awakened by the sound of the door to his cell grinding open, though he is not sure if he should be tired due to the night, or if he should be somewhat awake from the daylight. He has no time to register either when he is suddenly hauled up by the front of his shirt and forced into a chair pushing a block against it to keep it shut. The mask is tugged off his face and it takes a minute for Adam to register Rochester’s face. It looks much worse than it had before, the Capitol defined features seemingly burned away with small burns to his cheek, about as small as the tip of a cigarette. Still Adam cringes as his arms are tugged behind his back and bound together by a thick rope. At first he panics, his chest remembering the effects of the water torture and his legs instinctively kick out, only to be bound to the chair as well. Rochester draws a pair of pliers out from his jacket pocket and clenches Adam’s bottom lip in it, squeezing down hard enough to draw a steady stream of blood out from under it. At first Rochester says nothing, and instead studies Adam’s face as if he did not recognize it, while Adam is forced to look into Rochester’s own mutilated expression, his eyes burning with white hot hatred. Without all the Capitol makeup clouding his face, Rochester looks almost as weary as the people of District Eleven. Adam starts to feel a bubble of pity burning up in the pit of his stomach, and part of him almost wishes to console Rochester, despite all of the agony he had put Adam through. Rochester seems to notice Adam’s softened expression and clamps down harder on his lip with the pliers, breaking through the skin completely and tearing a small hole in his lip. Adam grunts in pain, tugging his face away from his grasp and spitting blood out on the floor. Rochester draws another item out of his pocket, a cloth almost resembling a bandana, and he presses it between Adam’s tightly clenched teeth, forcing it past and walking around to secure it behind the back of his head. He steps back in front of Adam and holds the pliers out warningly in front of his face.
“Don’t.” Rochester starts, his eyes still brimming with a burning hate. “Don’t you dare look at me with those pitiful eyes of yours. How dare you feel pity for me. Here I am, holding your life in the palm of my hands once more, and you are going to dare feel sorry for me?” He laughs for a moment, quietly, but still sending chills down Adam’s spine. “Oh no. By the time I’m done with you today Adam, you’re not going to feel sorry for anyone but yourself.” He walks back to the corner of the room and drags in a small tripod and a handheld camera, mounting it on top of the tripod and turning it on, keeping it aimed at Adam’s face. He looks away from it, only to have Rochester clamp down on the other side of his lower lip. “Ah ah ah.” He shames him. “You are going to look into the camera, and smile like a big boy. I want you to say hello to all of those fuckers in District Thirteen, all of the tributes that got saved. Why aren’t you angry Adam, huh?” Rochester’s voice is demanding, vicious, and all Adam can do is stare at him, struggling to swallow the fear building up in the base of his chest. “They left you behind. You could have just as easily gotten onto that hovercraft with that idiot boy from District One…what was his name again? Onyx…?” With the name dripping from his lips, Rochester turns to the camera and picks it up from the tripod, bringing it in closer to Adam’s face, his lip still dripping with blood. Rochester brought the camera up in front of his face and smiled, his lips twisting into a malevolent smirk. “That’s right Onyx; you see what you let happen? The brave, strong Career lion from District One, having fallen so hard over some stupid girl, and now you let the only person who ever gave a shit about you rot away in the Capitol.” Rochester brought the camera inches away from Adam’s face. “Come on Eleven, beg him to come save you. Beg that useless Career to come to your rescue like you did for him.”
Adam said nothing, his hands merely twitching behind his back as he tries to free himself.
“No?” Rochester demands, gripping the pliers in one hand and gripping the skin on Adam’s throat, pulling on it roughly, begging to elicit some kind of whimper from the already broken boy. “Of course not. He’s not coming to help you Adam. You wasted your time.” Rochester pauses to take the camera and mount it back on the tripod before he makes his way back over, this time standing behind Adam, gripping his wrist and kneeling down to cradle his hand gently. “You want to know why he’s not coming, Davidson? Why nobody in District Thirteen is coming?” He leans his face forward, propping his chin up on Adam’s shoulder. “Because nobody gives a rat’s ass about you.” Rochester pauses once more, and Adam can feel the cold grip of the pliers on his left ring finger. “You work your ass off to save people, and what does it get you in return? Do you get to feel a little bit better about yourself? I went to your District, Adam. Nobody even admits they know who you are. You’re useless to your district, you’re useless to Thirteen, and the only thing we’re using you for, is to make an example out of you. To show everyone in that god damn rebellious district what they’re looking out for. What can happen to them if they ever dare try and overthrow the Capitol again.” Adam flinches slightly as he can feel the pressure of the pliers on his ring finger. “Now seeing as you’re never going to get out of here alive to see that ‘wife’ of yours again, this finger is useless. And once again Adam…I want to hear you beg me to stop.” A sharp, incredible pain, much more intense than from his lip spread through Adam’s entire hand as Rochester clenched down on his ring finger as tightly as he could, and Adam could feel the bone shattering underneath it. The sharp surge of adrenaline made him gasp out in incredible pain, hot tears stinging his eyes as he involuntarily tried to jerk back away from it. Rochester squeezed harder and harder, the sharp pliers piercing through the skin of his finger, then through the muscle until it clenched the already shattered bone. Adam was gasping wildly, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, and he pleaded silently with the pain to end. But Rochester only squeezed harder and harder, using all of his strength to break through the feeble bone of his finger until he could no longer feel it at all. The pliers had stopped digging and Adam’s teeth stung painfully from where he bit into his mouth gag.
Rochester was holding Adam’s face in his hand once more, and in the other hand he clenches a pair of pliers, and also Adam’s ring finger. He holds it up in front of Adam’s face and smiles brightly. “See? So unnecessary.” He tosses the detached finger aside, his face now hardening again, and brings the electric tool out from his back pocket and presses it to Adam’s chest, jolting him back to focus. “No no Adam…we still have so much work to do. Unless of course…you want to give me those little words?” Rochester tugs lightly on the bond in Adam’s mouth, quirking an eyebrow in question. Adam knows that denying Rochester his request would certainly mean he would lose another finger, but indulging him in it also elicited the same ending. Instead he struggles to catch his breath, the gag nearly suffocating him as he seemed unable to gather enough air to his starving lungs, his left hand throbbing with incredible pain. Rochester’s smirk falls and he sits down, straddling Adam’s lap and gripping the back of his head forcefully by his hair, tugging it up so he is forced to look at him. “What do I have to do to get a rise out of you Eleven? Are you really that hollow…that empty that you feel absolutely nothing? Huh? I just chopped off your finger, and what have you given me? A few tears? Maybe a grunt or a groan? I’ve broken people before Davidson, and they all give in eventually. You can be broken. You need to beg for your own life for once. You know those two boys that we took in with you? What are their names Adam?” Rochester lightly tugs down on the mouth gag, just enough so Adam can speak.
Adam gasps for breath, but Rochester brings the bloody pliers back up to his lip, warningly. “M-Mac…” Adam says slowly, his breath wavering. “And M-Micah.”
Rochester smiles and gently strokes his cheek. “That’s right. Mac and Micah. Do you know they haven’t even asked about you, Adam? I know you’ve been concerned about them, saving Mac from the gas, and you’ve been asking the guards about them. I don’t even think they know who you are, or even care.” He grips Adam’s hair tighter, but there is still a twisted smile on his lips. “See Snow thinks you can be broken in time, Adam. But I know it’ll only take just a little bit of encouragement. He thinks my methods were…unreasonable. But just you wait. Wait until this video hits live on all of the cameras across District Thirteen. Their surrender will come…they will learn to fear us. Just as you will learn to fear me.” He continues to stroke Adam’s face, and Adam has to fight back the bile building in the back of his throat. “You see…I’ve been studying you the most Adam. I knew we’d get you here, to the Capitol, because you certainly had to be punished for all of the horrible things you said about us. But I guess you could say, I was your biggest fan. I watched you struggle in the arena, I watched you, waiting for you to break down. And you didn’t disappoint…right after that girl died, I saw it right there for a moment. Saw you fall apart. And I knew…I knew how I could get you to break again. That I wanted to see you break for good. You pretend to be strong, to be brave, but underneath all that skin, you’re just a cowardly little kid from District Eleven, and I want to see it.” He gets up for a minute to grab the video camera and settles himself back down on Adam’s lap, reaching behind his back and grasping his middle finger on his right hand with the pliers. “Now this finger Adam, this certainly has to go. You’ve thrown this finger up at the cameras more times that I can count on your remaining fingers. So…” Without another word, he tucks the gag back into Adam’s mouth and that similar, incredible pain returned as Rochester clenched the finger between the sharp pliers once more, crushing through skin and bone. Adam’s body jerked forward, nearly flinging Rochester from his lap, but he pins him tightly between his legs, gripping his finger tighter and tighter, blood squelching between the tool and dripping down his other fingers. Against his gag, Adam is screaming, his chest heaving, unaware of the camera lingering between his face and his hand.
There’s a familiar soft plop that brings a light smile to Rochester’s face as Adam’s middle finger drops into the pool of blood on the floor. He drops the pliers onto the ground and smiles gently as Adam continues to cry out, his entire body shaking with pain. Rochester gently runs his hand across Adam’s cheek, massaging his thumb over the scar and whispering delicately. “Shh…baby someone’s gonna hear you.” Rochester sets the camera down on the ground, wrapping his arms around Adam’s neck and cradling him gently, delicately, as though Adam were a desperate child in need of consoling. He waits until Adam’s screams have subsided into quiet bursts of desperate breath before he tugs down the gag once more, his fingers still delicately tracing Adam’s cheek. “Now…go on Eleven…beg me not to do it anymore. Because if you don’t…I’m going to go back to your little shithole district…and I’m going to pick up that beautiful little sister of yours. She doesn’t need her fingers for anything yet, right?”
Whatever color had still lingered on Adam’s face disappeared in a second. His fear is suddenly replaced by cold rage, and he fights to free his arms once more. “If…you go anywhere…near my family…”
Rochester smiles at the way Adam’s fight seems to leap back into him. He raises the bloody pliers again as a warning that he should stop speaking, and Adam bites his tongue. With a satisfied smirk Rochester let’s them drop back down on the ground, resuming to delicately cradle Adam’s face. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on his neck, and Adam can feel his entire body lock in place. His breath still comes in short, incredible bursts, now intensified as he tries once more to pointlessly fight against his restraints. Rochester pushes down on his chest with ease, slamming Adam’s back into the chair once more and positioning himself better on his lap. He continues to hold Adam’s head in place with his free hand and kisses up his neck, his tongue tracing small circles across the beads of sweat that drip down his face. He finally makes his home back on Adam’s lips, his tongue traveling through the crevice the pliers had made in his bottom lip and forcing his lips apart. Rochester draws his tongue back just before Adam bites down again, and he picks up the pliers once more, grabbing hold of his left index finger. “Bite me…” He warns cautiously. “And not only will you lose one finger, but your precious Ariana loses two.” He holds the pliers in his right hand, his left locked in Adam’s hair, and he finally pushes his tongue back into Adam’s throat, violating him in every way imaginable. There are more tears slowly pushing their way down Adam’s face and he fights to resist them, willing himself not to bite the tongue invading his mouth. The worst comes as Rochester moans softly, as though he was enjoying every taste of the blood and saliva lingering in Adam’s throat. This is purely not for enjoyment purposes, as Adam clearly realizes. It merely is to make Adam feel so disgusted, so incredibly violated that he’ll have no choice but to give in. Already he can feel himself submitting to the disgust, more tears rolling down his cheeks as Rochester continues to explore his mouth and throat with his tongue, his moans becoming louder, his body aggressively grinding against his legs, as though to elicit another kind of reaction from him.
Adam can’t bare it any longer and he bites down hard on Rochester’s tongue, forcing him to withdraw and clench Adam’s index finger in the pliers once more. He makes a move to shove the gag back up when the feeblest, most pathetic sound emanates from Adam’s lips. “Please…” He begs quietly, his head dropping down against his chest.
There is no disguising the look of glee that passes over Rochester’s face as he releases Adam’s head with his left hand and picks the camera back up off the ground and holds it in front of Adam’s face once more. “What was that, Eleven?”
Once more Adam says nothing, and Rochester squeezes his finger warningly again. “I will cut every one of her pretty little fingers off.” He pauses, waiting for Adam. “SAY IT!”
“Please…” Adam submits again, turning his face away from the camera, pure disgust encompassing him and all his features. “No more…”
Rochester climbs off of Adam’s lap, but not before clenching off his index finger and letting that settle on the ground next to the first. He releases Adam from the chair, untying him and allowing him to curl back up in his corner, cradling both his hands to his chest. Rochester walks away from him, pointing the camera at Adam cowering in the corner, trembling, the broken shell of the man he used to be, and the cowardly boy he has become. Rochester turns the camera back to his own face and holds it up so that everyone in District Thirteen could see it.
“And that…my little rebels, is how easily all of you can be broken.”
