Art Demands Blood, Sweat, and Tears | Execution
[TW: 2D Gore, Blood, Throat/Neck Trauma]
For a moment before the time is up, Nao pulls back and stands up, strong and firm. His jaw is set, his fists are clenched, and there’s a gleam of something like defiance in his eyes. But only for a moment. A panel in the wall slides open and a chain shoots out, a metal collar closes around his neck, his expression falls and his shoulders slump. He doesn’t try to put up a fight as he’s yanked out of the room like a rag doll.
The panel snaps shut behind him, and two others on the opposite side of the room slide apart, revealing a blank white surface. A screen, and a projection device is already descending from the ceiling and flickering on with the clicking of outdated technology, sending an image humming onto the screen.
And then there Nao is again, strapped to a flat vertical surface, metal cuffs at his wrists and ankles and a leather strap around his waist holding him to what almost looks like a plain white wall. The view pans out, and it becomes clear that it’s a giant blank canvas. He tugs half-heartedly at his bindings, but they’re very secure, he’s practically bolted down, and after a few seconds he just lets himself hang there with a heavy sigh.
Even when an enormous paintbrush descends from the ceiling into the scene he doesn’t react much, just watches it with weary eyes and his lips pressed together, resigned to his fate. He mumbles something, seemingly rhetorical, that the audio picks up. “What even is this? Can’t we just get this over with…?”
The brush dips down, and comes back up with the tip covered in blue paint. It begins to sweep over the canvas in long, broad strokes. It’s difficult to tell, from this angle, if it’s actually painting a picture or not. Surprisingly it doesn’t touch Nao, at least not right away.
Instead it paints above and around him, moving down to scoop up more paint occasionally, and spreading it so thick that it begins to drip in some places. Nao shudders as thick drops of paint roll down and hit his head, shoulders, and outstretched arms. It seems to only be causing him discomfort for the most part, though at one point a glob passes over his face and he hacks and spits and snorts as it gets in his nose and mouth, shaking his head furiously to try and keep it out of his eyes.
During this, the brush finally drags down and passes over his left arm, and Nao suddenly jerks and swears violently. Blood begins to pour from fresh cuts on his arm where the brush touched, and suddenly the loud scrape of it over the canvas becomes more sinister. The brush isn’t made of hair or some other soft substance, it’s almost entirely stiff, constructed of metal wires and tines, like dozens of giant needles.
It’s not quite enough to tear or poke through the sturdy canvas, but it’s obviously sharp enough to slice through Nao’s flesh, the point only emphasized as it arcs up and passes over his stomach.
The wounds aren’t deep, enough to make him bleed profusely but not do serious damage. Nevertheless they clearly hurt, if the way Nao shouts and is now struggling in earnest is any indication. Fresh panic appears on his face every time the brush moves towards him again. Blood mixes with paint, turning it purple in places, making it hard to see how many or how bad his cuts are becoming, but there must be dozens now. On his arms, his stomach, his legs, over his chest and shoulders. And then the brush drags across the bottom half of his face, and his neck. Nao’s screams turn to chokes and gurgles, the sharp “bristles” clearly hit a vein.
The brush pulls away, leaving the bleeding and painted boy to jerk through his last seconds of life, and then he goes still, hanging limply, blood and paint still dripping slowly down from his dead body.
NAO BLACKWOOD-FUJIWARA, SUPER HIGH SCHOOL LEVEL TATTOO ARTIST, HAS BEEN EXECUTED.
