hell's right hand (1.21): from the shadows
CW/TW: captivity, violence, blood, vomit, (a child gets slapped in the face but is fine otherwise), malnutrition
as the continuation of 1.2, this chapter goes through one of the videos liexia & aurelie end up finding to get a better idea of what happened in that building, it's from kyre's pov.
-
-> video1.mp4 [play]
Was it the authorities he last spoke to? No, it must've been that private investigator, or so he called himself...
When the bag is removed from over his head, Kyre finds himself in a small room with maybe ten other kids. Nine, actually, after counting properly. He's for sure the only one who's at least eighteen, maybe the only that's above sixteen, but it's difficult to tell because most of them have small, gaunt faces and bones that stick out at the elbows.
No one speaks, but many of them sniffle every once in a while, a weak cry proportionate to their (lack of) body frame.
It's unclear to Kyre how much time goes by before a tall, lanky man enters the room, slamming the heavy door behind him. He doesn't even open his mouth until the echo is gone, and then when he does speak, his voice booms.
"This is where you'll be staying from now on. You are to obey and to serve without question."
"Who will we be... serving?" one of the slightly older children squeaks.
The man repeats himself, hardly even eyeing the speaker. "Without question."
Kyre stays quiet, but the other children don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
"Wh-where's my mom?"
"I needa pee, mist'r!"
"Are you gonna hurt us?"
"S'cuse me? I'm hungry."
"You're not gonna hurt us, are you?"
A clean smack across the first kid's face shuts everyone up.
"We will break each and every one of your bones if you don't listen to our instructions," the man shouts, a gun pointed not at any specific person, but everyone. "Understand?"
Suddenly infuriated, Kyre shoots up, lunging at the thin man and pressing him against the wall. The gun clatters to the side as he squeezes the older man's wrist. More of the children behind him begin crying, but aside from the ringing in his ears and the faint red coating his vision, he truly cannot hear or see anything else.
"I see you dare to defy me," the man drawls, spitting at Kyre.
Before he can properly filter the words through his brain, Kyre's begging. "Please don't hurt them. Do any-anything you want to me, but don't... not the others. Please."
The man snickers, but his voice has dropped to a smooth timbre. "Are you sure about that, dearest? Will you agree to all our conditions?"
"As long..." Kyre licks his chapped lips, "as long as you don't hurt the others. In any way." I'll keep the kids safe and find us a way out.
He's cackling now, and every one of his gleeful expressions only makes Kyre more uneasy. "Oh, of course. You said you'd do anything, hmm?"
"I... yes."
"Then let go."
Kyre loosens his hold, and he's kicked down so that he's kneeling before the taller man, who unlocks the door.
"Everyone but this boy, out."
The children scramble to leave with soft but quick footsteps. It's quiet for a moment after the door closes, and Kyre's eyes dart around for an escape. But other than the door, and the out-of-reach window narrow enough to allow only a few papers through, he's out of luck.
"You don't understand what we do here, do you?" he snarls, inching closer to Kyre.
The first kick lands on Kyre's shoulder, effectively knocking him on his side, but Kyre manages to grab the other man's leg, rolling to pull him down.
Three more men -- bigger, stronger ones -- bang open the door as Kyre smashes fist after fist into the thin man's face until he's bleeding from the back of his head and the nose, completely limp.
Kyre's knuckles are torn and raw already but he forces himself to stand up in a fighting stance again, ready to face off against the burly men in tactical gear. If he's going down, he's not going down without a fight.
He tries going for the legs again, but is quickly kneed in the stomach and shoved back onto the ground.
"Stop fighting and we'll take it easy on you," one of the men warns, pressing on to his neck while twisting his arm. Ignoring the pain from the nearly dislocated shoulder, Kyre rolls onto his back, preparing to kick.
He's punched in the cheek before he can make another move, though, the side of his face pressing against the concrete.
Flickering stars dance in his vision as the familiar taste of metal fills his mouth, crimson red pooling beside him. Is it his blood?
Kyre moves himself onto his side, trying to get rid of the spinning feeling, but to no avail.
A kick to the abdomen jostles his organs, forcing a torrent of sour vomit out onto the puddle of blood. Going unconscious would be convenient right about now, but his body just won't give up for some reason.
Kyre's able to take a few more gut kicks without throwing up, but the nausea increases nonetheless, as do the dull throbs throughout his body. The bruises and cuts are fine; they'll heal by themselves quickly enough, but he'll have to do something about the nausea.
He kicks someone's shin, and then groin as he pushes himself away from the blood and vomit. The gun's in the corner of the room; if he can just grab the gun--
A strong punch knocks the wishful thinking right out of his head, and Kyre's entire body drops against the concrete, more bruises blossoming all over his scraped skin.
When one of the men grabs his wrists, pinning him down, he twists, sending a needle-like pain through his shoulder and down his right side. Before he can stop himself, he lets out a groan, his muscles relaxing on their own.
The men take advantage of this immediately, pressing every one of his limbs down on the ground as Kyre coughs. His throat burns when he does, springing tears to his eyes as he lays there, completely spent.
"You done fighting now?" someone asks, and Kyre's eyes flutter closed, too exhausted to stay open.