Mason, I work at a government agency. Apparently, my pet listens in on my phone calls and meetings. They started talking about my confidential phone calls to our our house guests to other day. This isn’t the first time they’ve done something like this. They keep repeating what they hear me say.
I’ve tried gentle reprimands, I’ve tried keeping them far away when I talk about work, but they still try to talk about my job and what I do to. So as a punishment, for the past three weeks I’ve been putting an inflatable gag in their mouth, it locks onto a head harness that almost immobilized their jaw. I only take it off when it’s time to eat. It’s been three weeks since I’ve let them have context with anyone else expect me, that way they can’t interact with my servants and houseguests.
I decided to give them a break from the gag today, but now they don’t talk to me at all. They’ve gone completely silent and I don’t know what to do. They’re usually so talkative
(I swear this is all fictional, I was inspired by something I read about the other day that featured a psycho governor who tormented his pet behind closed doors)
(holds you very gently anon. This is a safe space for whump love lmao you can drop whump in my inbox any time. we know it's fictional here you're good)
"Ahh yes, some pets are like parrots. They like to imitate the sounds around them. Sadly, because they don't understand what they're repeating they can give out personal information sometimes."
"It sounds like this pet is usually pretty well behaved, and the punishments are typically relatively light. So the experience of wearing a gag for so long is likely shocking and confusing to their system"
"Some pets need longer to learn than other - and it really sounds like yours isn't doing it maliciously. Most pets are just sweet little things that want to copy their owners and don't understand the intricacies of human life. Be consistent with how you treat them and how you punish them and the pet will come around. They'll understand that repeating what they hear earns the gag, and eventually learn that the behavior is not worth the punishment."
...
"I fucking hate you! I don't want to work for you anymore! Get off of me, you son of a bitch!"
Whumpee yelled out as Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee was kicking and flailing, and Whumper found it hard to hold him still, even for a second, especially one handed.
Whumpee tried his best to fight his oppressor, but weeks of tiring labor and malnutrition on Whumpee's end gave Whumper the upper hand. Whumper used one hand to hold Whumpee's head to the ground, and with the other he put on the muzzle he had someone make for Whumpee. He used that hand to keep the muzzle on and keep Whumpee's head down, then picked up the other to reach into his pocket and pull out a small key. Whumper locked the muzzle around Whumpee's head, and the fight was over.
Once Whumpee heard the click of the lock, he knew he was beat. His voice was his best weapon, and now he couldn't even open his mouth fully. He was a turtle laying on its shell with no one to tip him over; utterly defeated.
Whumper sat up, panting. Once he caught his breath, he spoke. "That oughta keep you silent." Whumper stood up and dusted off his clothes. "Servants don't need to talk anyway. Maybe now you'll stop being so damn defiant."
Whumpee was sick of doing Whumper's labor and playing his games. He would do anything to get out of this place, but there were no windows to tell him where he was and Whumper would always lock doors when they weren't being used; escape was not an option.
Whumpee sat up, slouching, mood dampened by the newest development. He could breathe just fine, but without his snappy insults and clever comebacks, his fire was bottled up. All of his rage, all of his hurt, was now trapped with no outlet and Whumpee felt awful.
...
(Two months later)
Whumpee's fire was dying out. Two months with the muzzle, which only came off for a quick meal or drink of water. Now, Whumpee rarely used and could barely recognize his own voice; he only ever spoke in whispers, used to not speaking at all. The only voice Whumpee ever consistently heard now was Whumper's, and he was starting to hate it. The only exceptions being Whumpee's occasional whispers and Whumper's guests - Whumpee locked away in some other room forbidden to make noise as he strove to hear anything of the world outside Whumper's place - before the muzzle was back on or the short visits were over.
Whumpee, now more restricted in his freedom of expression than ever, couldn't really resist Whumper's orders, so he had given in. Sure, escape sounded nice, but it wasn't going to happen; just a fantasy. Whumpee had grown used to the physical demands of the work, and Whumper had been a bit less harsh with Whumpee's newfound silent obedience.
Whumper was loving it. He no longer had to put up with Whumpee's fiery words, and once that was gone, the rest of Whumpee followed. It had been a rather quick transformation from loud and defiant to silent and submissive, and the only thing Whumper loved more than a functional servant was seeing Whumpee defeated, day after day.
Even when Whumpee had his muzzle off, he wouldn't say anything out of line. Whumper had made lots of progress with his conditioning and Whumpee didn't feel like trying to defy Whumper anymore. While punishments were few nowadays, Whumper still enjoyed torture, and while it felt like hell, Whumpee didn't struggle like he used to and had gotten use to the routine.
Soon, this was Whumpee's life, his rebellious self as distant as him from the false hope as freedom. Whumpee had given up, a shell of who he used to be.
This is wonderful. Sucks for the intruder, but you don’t have to think about that. For you, this is wonderful. Jane is downstairs torturing someone and it’s not even Kitty or Puppy! You get to prepare spells and know Jane isn’t around while also knowing Puppy and Kitty are relatively safe. Well, you hope Puppy is safe. She’s probably fine.
You get out the materials you’ve gathered and prepare the spells you can remember. Kitty watches.
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing spells.” …did you ever even end up telling Kitty about learning magic? If you did, neither of you seem to remember it. “Barron taught me. Apparently that’s just, like, a thing that any human can do. I can teach you, if you want.”
“I’m not sure how well I can learn complex stuff like that right now...”
You smile at the way they phrased that. That they’re not sure instead of insistent that they’ll never be able to think again. That they said ‘right now.’ They have some hope for the future! You did that. “Fair enough. Let me know if you ever feel up for it. And want to.”
Kitty nods. “Um… why are you preparing spells?”
“I’m going to make it so the food we’ve got in the fridge can heal us. And try some spells against Jane.”
Kitty pales. “Don’t. Please, don’t make me watch her hurt you-”
“She’ll hurt me either way. At least this way I’m learning something.”
They’re tearing up already. “Please…”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. Just forget it. Go take a nap or something.” There are screams of pain coming from downstairs, but they aren’t Puppy’s, and that’s all that matters.
Kitty doesn’t go take a nap, but they don’t say anything either. They just watch as you carve runes you barely remember.
When you finish, you go to the fridge and start casting healing spells on the food.
Kitty gasps. “Your eyes… they turned yellow.”
You smile. “Yeah, Barron’s magic made a popping noise. Mine is quiet but turns my eyes yellow. Isn’t that cool?”
Kitty seems less anxious as they watch. “Will the food really heal us now?”
None of you are particularly injured right now, thankfully. There are some fingernails still growing back and some bones still healing, but no open wounds.
Holy shit. Did you really just think that you’re doing well because you only have broken bones and missing fingernails? Holy shit. You freeze for a moment before continuing with casting. “Yeah. It… kind of feels like a waste, since there are times I could barely move through the injuries and I would’ve rather had healing then… but I don’t know when I’ll next get the chance to do this. And I probably wouldn’t be able to cast if I was in that much pain anyway. And it’s not like there’s a limited amount of magic, it’s just- if I get caught, this’ll be the only chance to use these healing spells, and if I’m only going to get to use them once I’d want the pain to be unbearable… sorry, that’s not important. Yes, the food will heal us. It’ll speed up our healing, at least.”
Kitty nods. “You’re less likely to get caught if you don’t attack her.”
“I know. But I’m not going to let this be the rest of our lives. I’m going to find a way to stop her. You haven’t lost that hope you had, have you? You said you thought it was possible, if we just figured out how. You said everyone has weaknesses. We just have to figure out how to get rid of her powers.”
“...you think these spells can get rid of her powers?”
“I think they have a higher chance of doing it than just waiting in case a solution falls in our lap.”
Kitty nods slowly. “What spells were you wanting to try?”
You close the fridge, having finished casting all the healing spells you prepared. “I don’t remember a whole lot of them. There are some spells that are supposed to reduce pain, but they have such horrible side effects… I wonder what would happen if we used them on her? Especially when she’s so different from everything else Barron told me about. Maybe a healing spell would hurt her, since she can already heal herself? It’s all worth a shot, at least. I also remember a curse I saw that I thought might work on her, it's supposed to lock away magic for a period of time. I only have so many memorized, and most wouldn't be super useful in attacking Jane, but I could try to figure out more spells. I know vaguely what symbols mean what, if I can figure out which ones to combine…”
“Is there any way I can help?”
“Hmm… think you can distract her while I cast? She needs to be caught by surprise, otherwise she’ll just teleport away.”
Kitty nods. “I can distract her. Just signal me when you’re ready. Uh… wink at me or something.”
“I will. When do you think she’ll be back up here?”
Kitty shrugs. “It’s hard to guess, even when my brain works. Is there anything you need to do before she comes up?”
“I’ve prepared all the spells I want to try on her that I can remember. I can try to make new ones while we wait.”
Kitty nods. “I think I’ll take a nap. Put everything away real fast and wake me up if you hear the screaming stop.”
“Right.” You’d been trying to tune the screaming out, but you’ll need to know when it stops if you don’t want to get caught.
Kitty lies down on the couch and immediately passes out. That’s good. It’s always better when they can sleep through the drug effects, and Jane might forget to give them more if she’s busy torturing someone else! You sit in a beanbag chair and start preparing spells that may not even exist. You’ll have to work on complete guesswork for the words and motions for these ones, too. But hey, maybe you’ll discover a new spell which has the sole purpose of killing whatever kind of creature Jane is. That would be great. And wasn’t Barron’s job discovering/creating new spells? You should’ve asked it more about what it did day to day…
Your chest aches at the thought of Barron. It’s dead because of you. It would still be alive if you’d just been good.
You wipe your eyes and refocus on your work.
You're having a bit of trouble focusing, but you summon all your willpower to, even as you feel a headache starting. Jane's wounds heal. You know that, you saw that. But there are ways of killing someone without wounds. You remember, vaguely, a story of hercules slaying a lion with an unbreakable hide by suffocating him. And there are other things you can think of too- would she heal if her entire body was destroyed at once? Would limbs reattach if they got cut off? Would they regrow? And what's likely to be something she's never encountered before?
Instead of feeling like there's no possible way out like you often did before, you see dozens of pathways in front of you. Most are probably dead ends, but that doesn't matter as much as the fact that you're not stuck anymore. There are ways forward. You won't let Barron, Diya, and Ray's deaths mean nothing.
–
Puppy stumbles away from Jared to throw up bile, then comes back and whips them again.
“I was curious!” They shriek. “I’d been here before and there wasn’t a house, so I wanted to figure out how it got built so fast! That’s all! I swear!”
She’s already emptied their pockets. In them, there was more powder, some leaves with symbols drawn on them, and a booklet full of notes on the house. On the screams that came from it. On when Puppy leaves to go shopping and when she returns. “I’m sure you can think of a better lie than that.” Her voice is shaky, but she tries to sound like Master when she does interrogations. “What are these notes for?”
“I can help you! Let me help you!”
Puppy sets down the whip and gets a hammer. “This is your last chance to give me something convincing before I break every bone in your hand.” She feels nauseous again, but just grits her teeth. Later.
“I just wanted to help! I detected some weird magic here- and then I heard all the screaming and- and- please, I just want to help!”
“Can others detect this magic? Are we going to get more visitors?” Master might have to move them again.
“I don’t know!”
Puppy sighs. She was really looking forward to being done with this. “I think you’re lying to me, Jared.” She can hear how Master would say a line like that, how it would send shivers down her spine, but when she says it sounds teary and afraid and disappointed (but not in the way Master sounds when she’s disappointed, when there’s a threat behind it- just kind of sad).
“No! I swear, I swear, I just wanted to help-”
“I believe that part. But I think that if it was so easy to detect Master’s magic, I’d have had to deal with a lot more of people like you. We don’t get a lot of people poking around.”
“It wasn’t easy, I just…” They trail off. Unable to think of a reason why they’re here and other mages aren’t if it was just a matter of detecting magic.
Puppy takes Jared’s hand. “Here’s what I think. Bunny’s mage friend told you about us, and now that you haven’t heard from it for a while, you decided to come find the house it told you about.”
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
Puppy brings the hammer down onto their hand. They shriek and pull away, but the damage is done. Puppy gags, her body trying to somehow vomit up the guilt and disgust as if it's a physical thing. This shouldn’t be this hard. She’s hurt Bunny and Kitty, her closest friends, with less issues than this.
“I just want to help you! Let me help you!” Jared is sobbing.
“Who else did Bunny’s friend tell about us?”
“No one, I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
She reaches for their hand again. “W-wait! I- I’m the only one it told!”
Puppy stops. Really, that’s just the smart thing to say, even if she’s wrong and Jared really hasn’t met Bunny’s mage friend. “There we go. What did it tell you?”
Jared sobs. “I don’t- it told me what it was researching about the monster, what her powers are- well, what her known powers are. And it gave-” Jared takes deep, gasping breaths “it gave directions to this place, in case- in case something happened. Did- is-?”
“It’s dead. You will be soon, too, if you’re lucky.”
Jared sobs some more. Puppy tries to think of more questions to ask. Master won’t be happy if Puppy ends the interrogation before she gets back.
“What are your pronouns, by the way?” This is all so fucked up. Puppy tries not to laugh. Jared isn’t Master, they won’t find her laughing in inappropriate situations cute.
Jared doesn’t answer, just cries, so she Puppy abandons that line of questioning. She feels no need to torture that out of them.
“What was your plan here? Did the mage tell you Master had weaknesses? It was wrong if it did.”
“I just- I was still forming the plan, I didn’t realize the invisibility spell had worn off-”
That… that is interesting. Master wouldn’t have let them get away with the repeated spying if she knew, right? Puppy isn’t sure… but maybe, maybe if someone were use a spell like that and always stay invisible, Master wouldn’t be able to find them… Now that she thinks about it, a distant memory comes up. She was in a lot of pain and so tired and probably drugged, but she thinks Master might have told her once that she can sense shadows even outside her void, and someone who’s invisible wouldn’t cast a shadow…
She shakes herself out of it. That’s a dangerous train of thought to go down. And it's not like Master has ever had any trouble finding people in dark rooms without shadows.
“Do you regret snooping?”
Jared nods. Puppy struggles to think of more questions.
“Did you tell anyone what Barron told you?” Jared’s going to answer no regardless of the true answer, of course. They shake their head.
“Did you tell anyone where you were going? Does anyone know you’re here?”
Predictably, they shake their head.
“If someone comes looking for you, I’m going to assume you lied to me, and, as punishment, skin them alive. Understand?”
Jared nods shakily.
“Good.” She wracks her brain for another question. “For you to be here, after learning about her powers… Are you stupid?”
Puppy hears Master giggling behind her. That’s… good. Yeah, she doesn’t have to think of any more questions. She probably won’t get to talk again for months. But that's fine. That's fine.
"What did he say, Puppy?”
“Bunny’s mage friend told them about this place. According to them, it didn’t tell anyone else.”
Master nods. "That matches up with what I found fairly well. Lucky you, Jared! If it hadn't, this would be a lot worse."
She takes a cattle prod from her void. Puppy instinctively drops to her knees, but Master is entirely focused on Jared.
"You can go back upstairs, Puppy. I'll put the muzzle back on later. You do not have permission to speak."
Puppy's… surprised. Normally, Master would want her to help with torturing someone. But she knows better than to question her Master. She goes upstairs, ignoring Jared's pleas for help.
–
You'd shaken Kitty awake and were mentally preparing to face Jane when the screaming started up again. Huh…
Puppy comes through the door to the basement. Her muzzle isn't on, and there are pressure sores across her face where it used to lie. "...Puppy?"
Kitty also seems surprised. "Is Jane coming?"
Puppy shrugs. Fair enough.
"Uh…" You hesitate for a second, wondering if helping her with her wounds will interfere with your plan, but it shouldn't, right? "I'll go get the first aid kit."
You quickly grab the first aid kit and come back. "Can you sit down?"
Puppy sits down on the couch, next to Kitty. You start cleaning the wounds on her face.
"Is it just these? Or do you have other injuries?"
She just looks at you.
"Oh, right." Just one question at a time while she can't talk. "Do you have other injuries?"
She shakes her head. You finish cleaning her face and start bandaging it. You feel like you should apply some ointment or something, but you don't have any, and you're no doctor. Maybe that would just make it worse, anyway.
"The intruder's still screaming." You whisper to her. "She can't be multiple places at once. You could eat something."
Her eyes widen in horror and she shakes her head rapidly. You didn't really expect any different, but you figured there was no harm in trying.
You're worried about how casting a spell on Jane is going to go with Puppy here. She definitely won't help you with distracting Jane like Kitty will, but hopefully she won't catch on quickly enough to stop you either.
"Okay. Do you wanna play a game or something?"
She nods. Kitty already seems to be having trouble staying awake, so you look for a simple game that won't require too much brain power.
"How does Sorry sound?" Not too skill-based, but with enough decision making that it's interesting.
Puppy nods and Kitty hums affirmatively, or at least you think so. You set the game up, and the three of you play three rounds before the screaming downstairs stops.
You had been lying on Puppy's shoulder, but you immediately push away and sit up at the disconcerting silence. Kitty also grows more alert, watching you for the signal that it's time for a distraction. Puppy stares straight ahead, no visible emotion on her face.
The screaming might start up again, like it did before. This isn't a guarantee that she's watching. Just as someone screaming isn't a guarantee that she's with them in the basement…
You shake that thought off. Someone might cry from pain in the aftermath of torture, but usually not scream. At least not the wordless, agonized screams that the intruder's been producing up until now.
"What're you playing?" Jane appears sitting next to you, covered in blood and looking very happy with herself. You recoil. Just her presence makes your heart beat faster, makes you dizzy with fear.
"Sorry. We're playing Sorry."
"How fun." Jane says. She grabs Puppy's hair and inspects her, noting the new bandages. She has a muzzle in her hands where there wasn't one before, and starts strapping it to Puppy's face.
She's distracted- now's the time. You won't even need Kitty to do a distraction. You pull a rock out of your pocket, the one you set aside for this specifically, and quickly say the incantation and do the motions required for the spell.
If this goes right, it should steal the air from Jane's lungs, and continue suffocating her until you lose concentration.
She stops putting the muzzle on Puppy's face and turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow. She's not breathing, and not trying to either.
You're worried she's going to start hurting Puppy to break your concentration, but instead she just finishes muzzling Puppy and goes back to staring at you. No one moves.
It's… been a long time without her breathing. She doesn't seem remotely phased. She seems… amused, if anything.
"I don't think she needs to breathe, Bunny." Kitty says softly. You can't see their expression, or Puppy's- you don't want to look away from Jane in case it breaks the spell.
"Well, she clearly needs to breathe in order to talk. At least this can shut her up for a while."
Jane laughs without air. She doesn't need to talk to get this message across. Stupid Bunny.
She could easily break your concentration. Come over and stab you, or worse, hurt Puppy or Kitty. But she doesn't. She just stares at you, smiling.
She's waiting for you to break off the spell yourself. This is a lesson. She's letting you do this for the same reason she let you be free with Barron, Diya, and Ray for a year.
You want to be petty and hold out until you fall unconscious, but… that won't really help anyone. And your head is really starting to hurt. So you drop the spell.
Jane laughs audibly, now. "You must've been waiting all day for that! Again, do you really think I'd still be alive if it was that easy to kill me?"
You thought it was possible. Anyone trying to suffocate her normally would've had to contend with her teleporting, but with magic… it was worth a shot.
"I'm surprised that worked at all, to be honest. Most spells don't work on me. Though I guess that was more a spell on the air around me than me? Anyway. Give me your collar."
You expected this, if you failed. You take the collar off your neck and hand it to her.
"Go downstairs."
You head down to the basement. Jane is already there when you reach the bottom.
"You can't curse me, Bunny. Me being alive at all is a curse, one that no magic has been able to remove. Do you have any idea what that's like, to live and live and live no matter how painful it is? I think I've given you some idea… but we can do better, can't we?"
A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!
Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff
Consider this piece a sneak peek of what I hope is to come in the future of one of my series. If you pay close attention, you should be able to figure out which series!
If you haven't met Siren before (I've only ever written one other piece for her on tumblr), she started out as a rp character and now has a special cinnamon roll place in my heart. I’ve written a bit of intro for her at the link below that tells some of her backstory if you’re interested. She has a very simplistic view of a very narrow corner of the world, which I tried to convey in the way I wrote this.
Siren's Introduction
No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” | Outnumbered
Contains: lady whump, dude whump, conditioned whumpee, muzzle, superpowers, dehumanization (not pet whump), living weapon, stabbing, implied corporal punishment, sensory overload
.
.
They’re giving her another chance. Siren’s first mission was…a disaster, she thinks is a good word for it. That’s a word her trainers use sometimes when she does really, really, bad, and that’s what happened on her first mission. Going outside for the first time was nothing like she expected it to be. Everything was too bright, too colorful, too loud, too warm, and there were smells and there was air moving against her face and…she got out of the van and froze. She knew what she was supposed to be doing, but she couldn’t make her heart slow down and her breathing go back to normal. All she could do was stand there squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears with her hands, even though she knew how bad she was being.
After her correction, the trainers had started sending her outside for training. She had to get used to what it was like out there so she could be the good weapon she was supposed to be. And it’s been working! The moving air doesn’t distract her anymore, her eyes have gotten more used to the bright sun, and her ears aren’t so hurt by the loud noises that they play for her. She’s still amazed by how blue the sky is up above her, but she knows she can’t stand and look at it no matter how pretty it is. That gets her corrected.
So now they’re giving her a second chance, and just in case her training isn’t enough, they’re giving her some special tools, too. She gets small soft pieces to go in her ears that make everyone sound much quieter than usual, and the mask that she wears over her eyes for missions has what they call ‘lenses’ now that make everything darker.
She’s very nervous to try this again, but she has to do it right this time. Her handlers are expecting her to be a good weapon, and she knows she can be. She wants to be, so badly.
The van is just as strange the second time around. She’s put into the back with one handler and they’re left shut in the darkness. It rumbles and bumps underneath them for a while as the handler goes over her mission again, then the doors open and they’re suddenly in a different place than before.
And past those doors…is the outside. The real outside, not just the training yard. The bright, colorful, loud place with all the people and vans and tall, tall buildings.
She can do this, though. She’ll be a good weapon, she’ll complete her mission and make her handlers proud of her. Maybe she’ll do good enough that they’ll even say, “Well done.” She loves it when they say that.
The handler in the van removes her muzzle and points her in the right direction. She immediately walks forward, past the dark walls and the big metal boxes that smell funny into the open, bright area where all the vans are going by. That’s where she’s supposed to be. There’s still so much to look at and take in, but with her new tools it doesn’t make her want to shut her eyes and curl up small. And she’s not allowed to just stand here and look at it, as much as she’d like that, so she starts thinking about the next step of her mission.
She’s supposed to use her power on the people walking by. They’re not going to fight her, she doesn’t think, which is strange because that’s when she usually uses her power. But it doesn’t have to make sense to her. She only has to obey.
Siren looks around to make sure there are people nearby, then opens her mouth and screams.
Immediately, people are running and shouting and grabbing their heads. She doesn’t know what her power feels like. She’s never felt it herself. But she knows it hurts people, and that gives her a feeling in her stomach that she doesn’t like at all. She never wanted to hurt people. There was a reason that she was locked up and muzzled, and it was because her power was so horrible. She was a monster.
But her new handlers told her that she could be a weapon, instead. She still didn’t want to hurt people, but she got more used to it the more they trained her. And it doesn’t matter what she wants, anyway. Weapons aren’t allowed to want. She’s just happy that she’s not a monster anymore, even if she does have to hurt people.
So she screams again, ignoring the feeling in her stomach and trying not to watch the man who’s collapsing nearby and the woman who’s crying. This is the first part of her mission, and she’ll keep doing it until the second part happens.
It doesn’t take too long, which is good because her throat gets tired after too many screams and most of the people have run away, anyway. She can tell when her real targets arrive because they’re the only ones running toward her. There are two of them, both wearing masks like her. She’s fought two people at once before, this is okay. She can do this.
The boy immediately goes to the man who’s still lying on the ground, checking on him and calling a couple of others to help him get away. The one wearing a hood faces Siren, arms crossed.
“So. New girl in town, huh? Any particular reason you’re out here causing trouble?”
She almost answers her. All questions must be answered truthfully and immediately. It’s been ingrained into her, so much that not answering right away is making her dig her fingernails into her palms, entire body tense. But she knows that that only applies to handlers and trainers. She’s not supposed to speak to her targets at all.
Instead, she screams again.
The girl doubles over, hands on her ears. “Ah, crap!” Straightening, she sticks one finger in her ear and jiggles it around. “That smarts.”
“Yeah, if you could not do that again, that would be great,” the boy groans from the side. “Note to self: store earplugs somewhere in this outfit.”
They’re…strange. But she’s not here to try and figure them out, she’s here to fight. Siren screams once more, and this time she darts forward when the girl reacts and starts kicking and punching. The first couple of swings land before she starts blocking. Siren quickly learns that the girl’s really good at fighting. As good as her trainers. But that’s alright, she’s used to fighting her trainers, and she still has her power she can use. She doesn’t scream again, wanting to save her voice for when she really needs it, but gives little vocal noises with each punch or block. She can see the way it affects her immediately when she winces and almost misses blocking her.
“Would you stop that?” The girl is late again and takes a punch to the shoulder. “Of course you won’t, you’re a villain. Gotta make our lives difficult.”
Villain? She doesn’t know that word. She’s a weapon, not whatever a villain is.
With another grunt, she manages to punch the girl target across the face, sending her stumbling backwards a couple of steps. Before she can follow through, though, the boy target suddenly appears in front of her. One second he’s not there, the next he is, and Siren nearly falls over as her momentum is interrupted. How did he do that? She’s never seen anyone do that before, not even her trainers!
It doesn’t matter, though, she can’t get distracted. He’s not nearly as good of a fighter as the girl, which means he isn’t as good as Siren, either. She can take him down fairly easily, even without her voice, except that the girl is still around. She’s not joining back in, like she expected her to, which would make her job much harder but still not impossible. Instead, glances over in her direction in between strikes seem to show her…pulling something out of a bag? Maybe it’s a weapon. She can’t tell yet. She really, really hopes it’s not a gun. She hates guns.
The boy is practically running away from her, doing what fighting he can but mostly trying not to get hit. Every once in a while, he disappears and reappears a few feet away, making her change directions.
When she raises her hand for another punch, a sharp pain slices across her knuckles. She still swings, but glances at the hand after. A small stream of blood is running down her fingers. Where did that come from?
Another pain like it pierces her shoulder. Stopping her march after the boy for the moment, she looks for the source and finds a small, pointed piece of metal sticking out of her shirt. She pulls it out, staring at the blood on the tip, then looks up at the girl. She’s throwing things at her. No…not throwing. As Siren watches, another metal piece lifts from her hand as if on its own, then comes flying through the air straight for her. She jumps to the side, and the piece swerves after her, just nicking her other arm as it passes.
Her trainers never told her people could do things like that. Like both of these targets are doing. Maybe…do they have powers? Like her? Are they weapons? They’re allowed to talk, though, and ask questions. But maybe that’s just because their powers aren’t their voice, even though she isn’t allowed to ask questions with signs, either.
She’s gotten distracted again. She’ll get corrected if she doesn’t stay focused.
She turns her attention back to the boy, doing her best to ignore the girl and her metal pieces. A few more hit her, but she knows better than to react to pain. Besides, this pain isn’t that bad. It’s nothing like what she’s used to.
Just as she thinks she’s going to win this fight, though, there’s suddenly two boys standing in front of her. Two of the same boy, that look exactly alike. There are so many questions running through Siren’s mind, but that’s nothing unusual for her. This is fine. She can still do this. The two boys are better at fending her off than just one, but neither of them seem very eager to actually attack her.
Until the girl joins back in. First she kicks from behind, and when Siren spins around to defend herself the two boys start actually getting in some hits. It’s fine, though, it’s fine. She’s fought three people before. She’s never beaten three people before, but those were three that were actually all good at fighting. There are a growing number of spots on her body that will probably turn into bruises, and a couple of those metal pieces are still stuck in her skin, but she’s okay.
And now there are three boys. The more of them there are, the more confident they get in hitting her. She’s now blocking instead of hitting. Throwing in some more grunts and cries helps back them off a little, but not enough. Her focus is pulled in too many directions, and the next thing she knows, her feet are knocked out from under her and she hits the ground hard. One of the metal pieces, poking out of her leg, gets shoved further in with the impact. She throws her head back with a gasp.
This can’t happen. She can’t lose this fight, fail this mission. Siren does what she should have a few minutes ago and screams, long and loud, not even watching how the targets respond in her rush to get back on her feet.
“Phantom, you good?”
“...yeah.” The boy - there’s only one of him now - sounds like he’s in pain. “Wasn’t fun hearing that with three sets of ears.”
The girl is watching Siren carefully, more metal pieces floating above her hand, but glancing over at the boy from time to time. “You need a retreat?”
“N-no.” He shakes his head, trying to straighten up from his hunched position. “No, I’m fine.”
She almost has him beaten, she can feel it. She screams one more time, and he falls to his knees, clutching his head and crying out. The girl stumbles toward him, her metal pieces scattering to the ground.
“Phantom! Okay, that’s it. I’m getting you out of here.” She looks over at Siren and makes a swiping motion through the air with her hand. The metal comes to life from the ground, five or six pieces shooting toward Siren all at once. She dives out of the way, rolling across the ground and jarring the piece inside of her again.
By the time she’s back on her feet, the targets are running away, the girl’s arm around the boy.
She did it. She won!
She’s so happy that she just stands there a moment, breathing hard, staring after the two as they disappear around a corner. Then she remembers her handlers, waiting nearby, and turns to limp back into the darker, narrower area with the big metal boxes and the van. Her muzzle is put on and she’s loaded into the back without anyone saying anything to her.
“Did we get enough data from that?”
“Yeah, we got some stuff to work with. Also looks like we need to talk to its trainers about it fighting multiple assailants. And maybe they can somehow simulate superpowers, or get someone in there with superpowers to help?”
“Maybe. I’ll tell ‘em when we get back.”
The handler climbs in the back with her, and the doors are shut. The van begins its rumbling.
No one tells her, “Well done.” But they don’t say anything about correcting her, either, so Siren is content.
content warnings for adult language, creepy/intimate whumper (like, on blast here), restraints, muzzles, minor discussion of involuntary urination (definitely not sexual), noncon touching, noncon nudity (not strictly sexual), and threatened future noncon.
part four: ivan welcomes jack to captivity
Ivan doesn’t hesitate. When the airport taxi drops him at the curb two days later, he barely makes time to drop his bags before he heads to the basement to see what Seligman has done with Jack.
The basement looks much the same as it always has, but there is a new wall that cuts three-quarters of the way through the original footprint of the room. No one would think it was a recent addition; the contractors WRU hired did an excellent job making sure that it blends in with the rest of the room. There’s a regular door, white and beveled like the others in Ivan’s house, but with a discrete lock that Ivan can unpick from the outside. Behind that door is one made of steel, securely padlocked and entirely soundproofed. Ivan reaches into his pocket for the key, his groin already tight at what he knows he will find. He closes the door behind him before taking a closer look.
The boy is still out of it—at least, Ivan thinks he is. With most of Jack’s handsome face swallowed up by a black leather muzzle, Ivan can only go by his eyes, which are buttoned shut just as if Jack were taking a nap. Of course, there are salt tracks that disappear into the cut leather and spidery coronas of red where he’s burst blood vessels in his cheeks, but really, Jack looks almost peaceful this way. But it isn’t the muzzle that excites Ivan most. On the contrary, once Ivan’s shown Jack what to do with that pretty pink mouth, he won’t have to muzzle him again. No, it’s how Seligman has chosen to restrain the boy that Ivan can’t resist.
Jack is on his knees, his top-half wrapped tight in an old canvas straitjacket. Seligman has an excellent sense of humor.
Of course, Seligman’s made some modifications. At the back of the jacket’s collar, between Jack’s shoulder blades, and just beneath his back ribs are wide D-rings, sewn into the fabric and attached to metal eyelets in the concrete wall behind by short lengths of chain. Beneath him, Jack’s ankles are immobilized in a modified hog-tie, secured with linked chain to the D-rings on the back of his straitjacket. His knees are splayed wide open beneath him, peeking out from faded black basketball shorts.
Seligman may be a sick fuck, Ivan thinks, but he knows what he’s doing. Sweet little Jack cannot move a muscle. He is entirely at Ivan’s mercy now. Their work together will be underway soon.
Ivan can’t help himself. He laughs. “Oh, there you are.”
And then, Jack’s eyes flutter open, somehow bluer and more beautiful against their bloodshot whites.
The boy is terrified. The naked fear and confusion in those big blue eyes is precious. Ivan reaches to touch the boy’s red cheek, and Jack tries to jerk away—but he can’t. His body barely twitches against the solid tension of his restraints.
“Careful now,” Ivan coos. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The muscles in Jack’s throat cord as he fights to speak—well, to scream—but the sound is mangled and lost behind his muzzle.
“Settle down now, Mr. Kenyon. Settle down.” Ivan ghosts his thumb over the thick black leather that nudges at the underside of Jack’s cheek. He cups Jack’s face and forces the boy to hold his gaze. “I’d love for us to have a chat. I’m sure you want to know more about your—position here.”
Jack bleats against the muzzle, cheeks burning under Ivan’s touch. Ivan shakes his head.
“But I can’t take that off of you unless you promise to behave. This is a professional environment, after all.”
Another muffled attempt at a scream. The effect is gorgeous, and Ivan lets Jack’s chin go so that he can reach down to adjust himself.
Jack sees, and his eyes widen. He shakes his head furiously, pulling, tugging, straining against the straps and chains, as though it will make some kind of difference. It will be easier, Ivan thinks, when the boy understands that his efforts will have no effect on his situation. When he’s learned to be helpless.
But that won’t happen for some time, and until then, Ivan is content to enjoy the show.
“And here I thought you were top of your class,” he says, smoothing Jack’s tousled hair from his sweat-damp forehead. “It seems you’re having a hard time understanding. But don’t worry, Jack. I’m a behavioral scientist, after all. I know how to help someone learn.”
He reaches into his pocket, and his fingers bump against a small remote control. It will activate the electric clip that Ivan asked Seligman make sure to attach to the metal buckles fastened across Jack’s back. A crude system, perhaps, but Ivan is sure it will be effective until he installs the shock collar WRU sent; he didn’t want Seligman to collar the boy without him.
“Now, let me ask you directly: if I remove the muzzle, will you be quiet?”
Jack hesitates for a moment, his face contorted beneath its leather prison. Then, he nods—well, as much as he is able.
Ivan doesn’t believe him for a second, but he smiles sympathetically. “Alright, then.” He unclasps the buckle and pries the leather away from Jack’s sweaty face.
Jack spits the metal bit from his mouth and his guttural scream fills the room almost immediately. Ivan enjoys it for a moment—after all, no one can hear the boy, and he looks so good this way—but then, he remembers: punishment is most effective in the moment, and he is meant to be training Jack, after all.
Ivan reaches back into his pocket and punches the remote. Jack’s shriek is replaced by an animal keening, his body spasming as the electric current wraps itself around his ribs.
“I told you,” Ivan says gently. “My directive was clear. Behave, and you’ll be fine.”
Jack’s mouth is practically foaming, and faint aftershocks still wrack his body. “You fucking—”
Ivan presses the button again, and Jack’s body writhes in its canvas sheath. Jack’s eyes roll back in his head, his chin thrust high in the air, and Ivan can’t help but appreciate the tableau.
“Language,” Ivan hisses. He pulls the remote from his pocket and wiggles it in front of Jack’s heavy-lidded eyes. “You know, that clip is situated awfully close to your heart.”
Jack’s Adam’s apple bobs like crazy in his white throat; he can’t swallow, can’t speak, can hardly breathe. Ivan tucks the crook of his hand under Jack’s chin, pressing just hard enough that Jack should understand he means business.
“Now, are you going to behave?”
Jack doesn’t respond. His chest heaves beneath the straitjacket’s straps and buckles, his jaw slack and wet with his own spit.
“I asked you a question, darling. Are you going to behave, or should I muzzle you again? It’s your choice.”
Jack’s shoulders twitch, and the buckles rattle. “Please,” he rasps.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t really answer my question,” Ivan says. His thumb hovers over the remote button.
“No!” Jack manages.
Ivan smirks, still poised to strike. “What do we call it, Jack, when we add an unfavorable consequence in order to discourage a behavior?”
“What?”
“In operant conditioning, darling. When we administer a consequence the subject will not enjoy in order to weaken an undesirable response. Like I just did with you. I administered a shock to discourage you from disobeying me. What do we call that?”
Jack shakes his head, or at least he tries to. His voice is wet and wheezing. “I—I don’t—why? Why are you doing this?”
“For such an intelligent boy, you seem to struggle with answering such a simple question,” Ivan sighs. Jack squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of the next shock.
It’s really too easy. For all that humans believe in their own complexity, it takes very little to reduce them to their basest animal instincts.
“Let’s try again,” Ivan says. “What is it called when we administer an aversive consequence to discourage behavior?”
“I don’t know,” Jack whimpers. He doesn’t look up. “I don’t know. Please. Please—”
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re not in a position to be making requests. Not anymore.” Ivan bobbles the remote between his fingers. “Not to worry. I’m here to do the thinking for you, aren’t I? It’s called punishment, Jack. A basic principle of behavior modification, wouldn’t you agree? You were bad just now. But you won’t be bad again, because I made sure that you know that, if you are bad, it will be painful. Would you agree? That you’ll be good for me?”
Jack only stares back at him, eyes still bleary and lost.
“I think you’ll be very good,” Ivan coos, carding his fingers through Jack’s hair. “In fact, I’m sure that you’ll be a very good boy by the time we’re done with your training.”
Jack forgets himself. “T-training?”
Ivan wraps his hand around the remote, and Jack’s eyes widen.
“See, you’re such a fast learner!” Ivan says. He pockets the remote, and Jack’s shoulders relax. “But I suppose your confusion isn’t unreasonable. I can save my quiz for later if you’d like to ask your own questions now.”
Jack looks uncertainly at Ivan. Ivan knuckles his fingers into Jack’s hair and rips his head backward. The boy hisses in pain.
“Speak now, Jackie darling, or forever hold your peace. I won’t give you this opportunity again.”
“Is this some—some kind of-of-of prank?” Jack asks. He sounds almost hopeful.
Ivan laughs. “Oh no, darling. It’s not a joke. I take my work very seriously.”
Jack is wary—he is doing all he can to avoid looking Ivan in the eye—but he manages to take some control of his trembling lips. “Then, what is this?” he asks.
Ivan lets Jack’s hair go and stands up, pulling at the crotch of his pants. “By ‘this,’ I’d assume you want to know why you’re being held in such a manner?”
Jack’s head bobs in a shallow nod.
“Because this is what you signed up for,” Ivan says with a shrug. “You wanted to be my research assistant, and so you are.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand.”
Ivan stands and moves away from the boy, leaning his weight on the heavy steel table at the center of the room. Seligman’s left Jack’s paperwork there in a neat pile. Ivan picks up the manila folder and begins to page through it.
“Did you read the contracts I left for you, Jack?”
“I—I signed them,” Jack says, his voice practically a whisper. “Where you told me to.”
“That was good of you,” Ivan replies. “But if you’d read them thoroughly, you’d be better prepared for what’s going to happen next.” Jack is silent, and Ivan clicks his tongue in displeasure. “Go on, darling. Ask your next question.”
“What’s going to happen next?” Jack asks weakly.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Ivan says, slapping the folder shut with excitement. “The NDA you signed is for WRU. They’re the corporate investor in our research. Are you familiar with them?”
Jack’s chest bucks with a sharp breath. “The—the company that—they—don’t they—they turn people into pets?”
“Companions, Jack. That’s the politically correct term. They give troubled people a new lease on life.”
“I—” Jack begins, but no words follow.
“WRU has been working on some issues having to do with its public image. I’m sure you’ll remember that one of their designations is Romantic, yes?”
Jack doesn’t need to respond; the way the blood disappears from his cheeks is enough for Ivan to know that he understands.
“Well, their previous training protocol had a lot of flaws—things that made watchdog groups uncomfortable, you know. So, they’ve hired me to work out the kinks in their system, so to speak.”
Jack is sweating now.
“Ask your next question, Jack. I know you’re wondering.”
“Why—why am I—“ but he can’t finish.
“I need a test subject to help develop the new training protocol.”
He can see on Jack’s face that the boy is humiliated, that he’s ashamed of his own fear and weakness; but there is anger in those beautiful tear-soaked eyes, too. Even so, Jack can’t seem to prevent his tears from falling.
“Why?” he rasps.
Ivan shrugs. “Why? Why what? Why you, I suppose? You’re just what they’re looking for. Young, handsome, eager—we’ll just need to make you compliant and responsive as well.”
Jack flinches at the word responsive; he tries again to shake his head, but the chains hold him in place. He’s sweating in earnest now. “But you can’t—those places—they don’t just kidnap people.”
“And I didn’t kidnap you. You signed the consent forms, didn’t you?”
He did, of course. Ivan and Seligman made sure of it. For all intents and purposes, Jack Kenyon no longer exists; his mind and body are the sole property of WRU, and Ivan is his private custodian. It’s the sweetest part of the deal, knowing that there’s no legal recourse—knowing that one day, Ivan will be able to show old Joe just what he’s done to his beautiful boy, and there will be nothing Joe can do about it.
“No,” Jack moans. “No—you—you lied to me!”
“I didn’t. You simply didn’t read the fine print.”
“You drugged me,” Jack spits back. His neck strains against his short lead, and Ivan tries not to get distracted by the notion of adding a leash to the collar that sits in the box WRU sent over. There are so many delightful toys that he and Jack will get to play with.
But that’s not important right now.
“Those signatures are authentic,” says Ivan. “You weren’t coerced. You chose.”
“Even if that were true—” Jack’s eyes are wild now, distracted and bouncing everywhere at once. Then, he freezes. “Oh my god, Joe.”
“Oh, yes. He is your one detractor,” Ivan says condescendingly. “Other than Joe, you are deliciously unattached.”
Jack pulls again at his restraints, but the chains hold him fast. “You won’t—don’t—please, don’t hurt Joe! I’ll do anything.”
Ivan’s been looking forward to this part. He leans down and lets his breath sit hot in Jack’s ear.
“Jackie darling, you’re the one that’s hurt Joe.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asks slowly.
“Well, you blocked his number. And when the statement for your credit card gets delivered next month, he’ll be able to see the paper trail you left him, all the way to Los Angeles.”
“No.”
Ivan nods. “It’s a shame, the way you ran out on him, but I suppose he knows you’re a bit chaotic—all of the things that you did before you found him, all of the things you went through—"
“—no, no, no—“ Jack murmurs to himself like a man possessed, and Ivan can’t help but smile.
“You could have been so much more direct. He wants to marry you, to take care of you—and you couldn’t be bothered to even leave a note.”
“No!” Jack howls, and the chains rattle again. It doesn’t matter; he isn’t going anywhere. Jack Kenyon won’t leave this room. Whoever—whatever—emerges, it will not be Jack. But he hasn’t accepted it. Not yet. It’s still too early. There is still some fight left in him, even if he knows no one is coming for him now.
It’s beautiful, Ivan thinks.
“Fucking—let me out! Please. I don’t consent. I don’t—”
“Oh, but darling, you did. You did consent. And don’t you value scientific knowledge, Jack? Aren’t you honored to be part of such an important project? You’re going to be the evidence of my research. Living evidence of a complex behavioral hypothesis. Not to mention, you’re helping me secure a bonus for providing WRU a made-to-order companion at the end of this—if I don’t keep you myself. My agreement does stipulate that I get first rights to your contract.”
Ivan presses the button on the remote before Jack can scream.
The boy arches against his straps and buckles, lips torn wide in a silent howl of pain. It takes a moment for the twitching to subside, and then Ivan secures the muzzle back in place, shoving the bit hard against Jack’s tongue before he buckles the strap behind his head.
A dark stain spreads at the crotch of Jack’s basketball shorts, a puddle dribbling between his red knees. It’s encouraging, Ivan decides: the boy is already miles away from the young man he’d been just a few days before, and they’ve only just begun.
“Oh, no. You’ve had an accident,” Ivan murmurs. “You’re quite agitated, aren’t you?”
A strangled scream rockets up Jacks’ throat as Ivan slowly works down his soiled shorts, taking his underpants with them. The fabric tangles beneath Jack’s knees, sopping up some of the mess. The smell is not particularly alluring, but watching Jack’s breath mount as Ivan’s fingers move over his exposed skin is a pleasant enough distraction.
“Don’t be afraid, now,” Ivan says gently, letting his eyes scour every exposed bit of the boy in front of him.
Jack’s cheeks are pink, and his eyes stream with tears. The boy’s fight will return, Ivan is sure, but for now, there is nothing he can do. Ivan cups Jack’s naked hip with his hand, letting his fingers tickle gentle patterns against Jack’s soft skin. Jack whimpers, and Ivan gropes harder.
“Shh,” Ivan soothes. “Soon, this won’t even faze you. It’s going to be a pleasure to break you down, darling. A brilliant mind like yours? But for now, I’ll need to get you cleaned up—we’ll talk about the rest of your questions later.”
"Now, now...Husk. I believe you've forgotten your place." Alastor's voice came out rather menacing and staticky in a way as he laughed. "I find it quite rude for you to be talking about me behind my back, I heard everything that you told our dear friend, Angel Dust." He then yanked Husk's leash towards him, looming over the former Overlord.
It's clear that Alastor has taken extreme measures and he is furious. "Amuse me, did you find it funny that I had to leave in the middle of a fight due to getting injured?" He tightened his grip on Husk's leash as his grin widened even more. "Do you really have such a problem with me having control of you? You should be lucky that you're still alive and that I didn't kill you just like the former Overlords."
"Trust me, I can't kill you or get rid of you because the rest of our friends cares a lot about you and I'd rather not get on Angel Dust or the Princess of Hell's bad side." His eyes glowed a bright ruby red as he crouched down to Husk's height. "Husk, you're going to have to make it up to me if you'd rather keep your skin well-intact."
12 Days of Whumpmas 2021 Four Calling Birds: Muzzled | Memories/Flashbacks | Favorite Holiday Memories
12 Days of Whumpmas 2021 Masterlist / Of Vampires and Men Masterlist
Takes place about three and a half years after Parting Is Such Cruel Sorrow
CW: Vampires, war, guns, prisoners of war, unnamed character deaths, execution of POWs, restraints, threatened teeth whump, muzzle, creepy whumper, vampire whumpees, vampire whumpers, team whump
This battle was going to fucking hell. Micah was pinned down with his platoon. They were almost out of ammunition, and the Lucians were approaching from their flank. They had ten dead and another five wounded. There was no way they were going to make it.
“What are we going to do, sir?” Dimitri asked quietly. He was the newest member of the platoon, had only been out of basic training for a couple months. He was still a kid, only eighteen. Micah closed his eyes. Gods he didn’t want to make this decision. He flinched at the sound of a bullet whizzed overhead. The Lucians were close. When Micah opened his eyes, his soldiers were looking at him. Or at least the twenty that were still alive. He took a deep breath.
“We’re going to surrender,” he said with finality. Dimitri’s face went white.
“But sir… haven’t you heard the stories of how the Lucians treat their prisoners?”
Micah swallowed. “Yes. But if we continue to fight we’ll be massacred. At least this way we might have a chance at survival.” He was throwing his life and those of his men at the Lucian’s feet and praying that they would be shown mercy. There wasn’t any guarantee that that would happen.
Micah tied a cloth to the end of his bayonet, and struck his flint to get a spark. He lit the cloth on fire and raised the bayonet high into the air, the international sign of surrender. The shooting stopped and he let out a sigh of relief.
The sound of marching feet grew nearer. “Everybody, put down your weapons. We don’t want to give them a reason to hurt us,” Micah said shortly. Gods, he had never gambled in his life and this felt like the worst way to start. The stakes were so high.
The Lucians stopped about twenty yards away. “Who is the commanding officer?”
“That would be me. Lieutenant Micah Byrnes,” Micah said, stepping forward. He was proud that his voice didn’t shake.
“On your knees, hands on your head,” the Lucian said. Micah’s stomach dropped but he complied. Water soaked through the knees of his trousers. “All of you,” the Lucian spat. Micah heard his men get to their knees behind him. The Lucians spread out, surrounding them.
The vampire who had spoken stepped up, striding forward so he towered over Micah. “I am Captain Ulrich Weisman of the 34th Division. You are all now prisoners of the Lucian army. Trying to escape or fight back will be punished by death. As commanding officer, you are in charge of the behavior of your men. I expect you to keep them in line. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“Make sure they all are disarmed,” Weisman said. The Lucians started moving among Micah’s men, searching them for weapons. Weisman crouched down in front of Micah.
“Let me be very clear. I don’t care if you and your men live or die. If you care, you better make sure to stay on my good side.”
Micah nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“They’re clear, sir,” a Lucian said. Weisman nodded standing up.
“Prisoners, single file,” he said. Micah stood up, his men falling into line behind him.
Micah spoke up.“Sir, we have wounded. They won’t be able to walk, but we can carry them.”
Weisman turned back to him. “I have no use for wounded soldiers. Ansel, Heinrich, kill them.”
Micah’s heart skipped a beat. No, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
“Wait, no…,” Micah began. That got him a slap across the face, so powerful that he was knocked to the ground. Then Weisman was grabbing his hair, pulling him upright. Micah gasped, tears in his eyes.
“My word is law, Lieutenant. Be grateful that I’m granting them a quick death.” He heard his soldiers begging before the sound of pistols firing split the air. Then all was silent.
“Move out,” Weisman said, walking away. Micah shakily got to his feet, following the Lucian. The rest of the enemy soldiers surrounded them. Micah had the sinking feeling that he had made a very big mistake.
It was starting to drizzle, cool water soaking the prisoners to the bone as they followed the Lucians towards the enemy camp. Lucians were bustling around and stopped what they were doing as Micah and his men were led through camp. They stopped somewhere in the middle, near the command tent, and were ordered to their knees again. The Lucians started fastening their hands behind their backs with shackles. “Tomorrow you’ll be transferred to the POW camp at Fort Norris. Lucky for you, I’m one of the wardens there.”
Micah closed his eyes. Fort Norris was way behind enemy lines, in Lucian territory. The likelihood of them being rescued was falling. Micah whipped his head around at the sound of a slap. Dimitri was on the ground, hunching over to protect his face as a Lucian kicked him.
“Hey! Leave him alone!” Micah shouted.
The Lucian turned towards Weisman, snarling. “The little shit spit at me. That’s a punishable offense. Can I kill him, Captain?”
Weisman seemed to consider this. Then a smile spread across his face. “Let’s see what the Lieutenant thinks. Your soldier showed disrespect, which is punishable by death. But I’m feeling in a merciful mood. Either I’ll kill him or punish you. You decide.”
“Punish me. Please,” Micah said, choking on the words as he locked eyes with Dimitri. He couldn’t break down in front of his men, but they had been prisoners for less than an hour and already five of his men were dead and one on the cusp of execution. He felt tears come to his eyes.
Weisman grinned. “That’s what I thought you would say. Bring me a muzzle.”
A soldier approached, handing Weisman a contraption of leather and metal. Weisman approached and Micah flinched back in spite of himself.
Weisman tsked. “Flinching isn’t allowed, Lieutenant. Now don’t you dare bite me when I put this on you. Open up.”
Micah gritted his teeth before opening his mouth. Weisman slid the metal bit in behind his teeth. “You have such pretty fangs, Lieutenant. If you’re lucky I might just let you keep them.” Micah’s face paled at that. Weisman tightened the leather straps behind Micah’s head. The muzzle was tight and dug painfully into the sides of his face. He couldn’t open his mouth and the metal pressed down on his tongue uncomfortably.
“I like you better like this,” Weisman said, running a hand through Micah’s hair. Micah closed his eyes as tears started to fall. “What, you’re already crying? Oh you’re going to be fun to break.” Weisman said. He then gave Micah a kick to the gut which sent him to the ground, wheezing.
“Anybody else show my soldiers disrespect and your leader will be hurt some more. Why you follow such a weakling is beyond me,” Weisman said before stalking away. The Lucians finished restraining the prisoners before leaving them in the rain. Micah laid on the ground, tears running down his face. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but whatever it was it would probably be painful.
