I want more whumpers who suffer from severe mental illness. I'm not talking about the typical obsessive love for their whumpee type of behavior but instead whumpers who have been sexually abused in the past and now release that pain onto others; searching to feel powerful and in control when their whole life they've felt nothing but weak and powerless. Or maybe whumpers who suffer from awful obsessive compulsions and beat their whumpee until they're black and blue for tracking dust in the house or moving something that was perfectly in its place or interrupting whumper's precious schedule. Whumpers with somniphobia or insomnia who use whumpee almost as a security blanket to sleep. Whumpers with disorders that cause panic attacks or rage episodes or hallucinations or night terrors who release all of that pain and misery unto their whumpee one round of abuse at a time.
Immortal whumper. Whumpee's locked in a room with them, and they can get lucky, turn the tables on whumper, can brutalise and kill them, only for whumper to come back grinning and seemingly good as new.
Mark Ryland finds his new prisoner orientation interrupted when Dr. Justin Li suddenly gets called to the prison hall. Mark has the opportunity to see firsthand how prisoners are punished for misbehavior.
TW: character death, graphic violence, gore
The sharp click of heavy boots on cold concrete cut across the otherwise ominously silent prison hall. "You should all be embarrassed, setting a poor example for our new arrival here,” Dr. Li lectured. Mark, held by two guards, faced the other prisoners and awkwardly avoided their stares as Dr. Li paced amongst the rank and file. Not a single one of them stared at the Doctor, though.
Mark carefully took in the cell block around him. The common area where he stood was surrounded with towering banks of cells monitored closely by glass corridors and a central control room suspended from the high ceiling. He'd already been there when Dr. Li stopped in to talk to the guards on duty and review camera footage on a tablet. Peering over his shoulder it appeared a prisoner had stolen someone else's food and started a scuffle. The punishment couldn't be that severe, right?
The radio crackled to life and Dr. Li stopped, putting a hand to his earpiece. “Hey. Why'd you want me to come down here? I was a little busy, you know.” He sounded annoyed. It was probably Dr. Osogami on the other end.
Mark couldn't make out her response but he swore he heard screaming in the background. He tried to focus on other things, like the irritated wound from the freshly installed shock implant. The other prisoners appeared to have them too, little tan plastic boxes embedded at the nape of their necks.
“Oh haha, sounds like you're in the middle of something. I won't spoil your fun then. Though this time, you're to blame if I get carried away!” Dr. Li laughed cheerfully, though something terrifying lurked under his light facade. Mark couldn't tell what was worse, the fact that he wasn't hallucinating or that both of these so-called doctors were so nonchalant about violence.
Dr. Li stopped in front of a column of prisoners. “Prisoner 1076, step forward.” A lanky man of a similar build to Dr. Li shambled out of the ranks to face him. All eyes followed them to the front of the room.
“1076, sir!”
“1076, you have an extensive record of dishonesty. As we've already iterated, lying will only get you killed here. I have half a mind to execute you on the spot if you can't give us any truthful answers. So be a darling and tell me: who started this?”
1076's eyes darted around. “Uhm, I- I don't know!”
“Wrong! Everyone saw it happen, I'm sure.” He smiled and swiftly grabbed them under the chin, lifting them into the air with inhuman strength. “Try again or the new kid gets to watch you die~”
“It was, uhm, uh, uh--” the man's darting eyes turned to panic as his stutters gave way to choking. Their limbs flailed uselessly as they teetered on the brink of suffocation, eliciting a chuckle from their aggressor. It seemed an eternity while they were suspended, clinging to life as gloved fingers dug into their jugular. A guttural scream rang out as their jawbone shattered with a wet crunch, showering Dr. Li in blood.
“You're useless.” He let the wet sack of flesh slump to the floor while their shattered jawbone ripped away in his grip, and admired the flaps of tattered skin dripping with gore that clung to it. Their hands clawed the air in a futile attempt to stem the blood spurting from their missing jaw.
Mark desperately thrashed in his restraints. He needed to get out of this insane asylum, and particularly out of reach of that bloodthirsty sadist who called himself a Doctor. At least, until he felt the cold metal prongs of a tazer on his neck. Dr. Li's psychotic grin froze him in place as if the presence of the tazer didn't already.
He'd hardly processed the gruesome display when Dr. Li abruptly knelt down in the growing pool of blood, fingers digging into the man's eye sockets. 1076 tried to will their imploded airway to scream, but all that came out was a bloody gurgle. Their mutilated face drooped as their eyes were ripped free from their sockets with a squelch.
Dr. Li stood and unceremoniously dropped them in his lab coat pocket, two growing dots of crimson on a sea of white. “Couldn't forget about those, huh? If nothing else, your eyes were gorgeous, can't let ‘em go to waste. Ahh, cybernetic enhancements make it so easy. I could do this all day!” He laughed creepily.
Cybernetics. That explains it. Mark recalled the elaborate mechanical arm he'd seen in Dr. Li's office was probably a prototype. If Xenokore Industries is developing this for their military contracts, then what cruelties could they unleash on battlefields right now?
He averted his gaze, but their wheezing death rattle continued to haunt him. Dr. Li appeared unbothered and instead proceeded with his prisoner inspections, casually swirling their blood between his gloved fingers.
He stopped in front of a small trembling man on the far side of the room. “1293, did you see who did it?” he asked too sweetly.
“Uh- umm- uhhh-”
“You better stop stalling or there'll be a second mess to clean up,” he interjected coldly. They opened their mouth to speak but were cut off by a ragged cough from across the room. Dr. Li calmly walked over to the twitching mass of viscera that was once a complete human a minute ago and drove a boot into the roof of its mouth. Hands desperately scrabbled over slicked leather for a chin that no longer existed. “Hold still now!” He laughed, stomping on their ribcage with an audible snap before unleashing a second kick. Not just blood, but chunks of viscera stuck to those sinister black military boots this time. A third and their neck awkwardly snapped back with the blow. A final stomp to their face for good measure shattered their ruined skull, sending bits of pink gelatinous brain matter streaking across the floor. The body stilled.
“Sorry for the interruption, where were we?” the Doctor grinned as he licked the blood off his fingertips. The manic glint in his eyes made Mark's blood run cold. “Ah yes, you better tell me who did it or you're gonna look like that pretty soon.” He casually nudged the limp corpse with his boot.
1293 gingerly pointed a trembling finger, to which Dr. Li hurried over, leaving a trail of jiggly viscera boot prints on the stark gray concrete.
“1125, come forward,” he ordered. A bulky, muscular prisoner who looked like they could snap Dr. Li in half broke ranks. But even this tough guy trembled in his sheer presence. “Did you see who it was?”
The nervous response came, “I think it was 1380, sir.”
“Well, let's see,” he pulled out his tablet to review the surveillance footage. “Ah, you seem to be correct.” He spoke into his headset, “Control, add 150 grams per day to 1125's meal allowance.”
Dr. Li turned towards the crowd again. “See, that wasn't too hard! If only you could've told me exactly who it was, 1293. You could've reaped the reward too. Instead, you'll receive punishment for your ambiguity.” He pulled out the shock implant remote and punched in some numbers, causing 1293 to collapse in a convulsing heap.
He paid no attention to the man's pained groans, only turned to his next victim with hungry eyes. “1380, looks like you're the reason why we're all here today.”
No reply.
“Do you know what you did wrong?”
“Stealing an inmate's lunch and starting a fight, sir,” they mumbled, focusing on the floor.
“Nope, try again.” An electric shock jolted through them on cue, but they managed to stay standing.
“Nothing? Wow, you really are stupid. Attempting to grab a guard's pistol was certainly a choice. The fight itself I could care less about. What was your goal, to shoot another prisoner even though this was all your fault!?” He menacingly wrung the blood off his cybernetic arm. “You'll pay.”
“No please! You can cut off my hands but just don't kill me!” The man begged desperately.
“Oh, but you're going to wish I did. Guards, take him to the Radiation Room.”
Time came to a standstill, not even breaths could be heard. That is, until a small voice made Dr. Li turn. “W-what's that place?” Mark stammered.
“I'm glad you asked! Let me show you a little something.” He grinned wickedly, pulling out the tablet from earlier. A couple taps later a grisly sight materialized onscreen. Angry, blistered skin melting from flesh riddled with greenish-brown boils. Blackened necrotic tissue falling off of bones. All belonging to a disfigured humanoid creature, puppeted by a machine forcing air through its rotting lungs. Mark choked on the suddenly heavy air.
“Isn't it gorgeous, the way the human body reacts to nuclear radiation?” the monster breathed with excitement. “I can't wait to watch your transformation, and I'm sure our newbie here would love to come along too. It'll be fun!” Mark wasn't sure what kind of twisted definition the word “fun” held here. Not like he wanted to know, either.
“Sir?” The control room intercom caught him off guard. “Inmate #1380 is currently assigned to the injection program. Would you like to assign a replacement?”
“Oops, yes, please. Reassign injections to #1468. We'll have the perfect opportunity to experiment with the efficacy of our serums in a fresh interrogation setting.” He clapped his hands together excitedly.
“Roger.” But who was this 1468? Pairs of eyes silently surveyed the room, confused, before collectively locking onto Mark. Bile pooled in his throat as a wave of dread washed over him.
“Oh that's right!” Dr. Li burst out laughing. We got so rudely interrupted during your orientation, I forgot to mention something. All prisoners here are assigned a number, a 14-hundred series like you is a political insurgent.” He suddenly grinned viciously at Mark. “From now on, you will have no name, so you'd best get acclimated to your new ID. It's tattooed on your right wrist.”
Mark turned over his hand to find a 4 digit number with a barcode tattoed on his wrist. Bile grew to vomit as he dropped to his quivering knees. Just as his vision began to blur into nothingness, he managed to make out the freshly inked characters: 1 4 6 8.
-------------------
Taglist: @snuff-fag-again , @cyberneticwhump
@vivisectedboy isn't officially on the taglist but I just know you'll like the gore <3
Avery paced at the end of his chain, shackle chafing the bare skin of his ankle. At some point, TJ had taken his shoes and socks and switched his wet jeans and jacket for plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a white cotton t-shirt. Avery tried not to think about what else he could have missed while he was sleeping.
TJ entered now carrying a tray with a spoon and a steaming bowl. "Good morning," he said jovially.
"Is it?" Avery scowled at his windowless room. "I hadn't noticed."
"You've grown headstrong since we were last together."
"You mean yesterday? Kidnapping can do that to a person."
"No." TJ chuckled as if going along to the whims of a child. "When you were small."
Realization — or maybe it was recognition — hit Avery painfully. "Joyal," he breathed then choked out, "That wasn't me."
Joyal waved him off. "Neither of us is who we were then. But we can learn. We'll be a family again, even better than last time."
He placed the tray on the floor near Avery's mattress and gestured for Avery to sit.
Avery clenched his teeth. "No, thank you."
"Sit," Joyal commanded, any pretence of pleasantry gone in an instant. At Avery's hesitance, Joyal grabbed his arm and flung him to the ground. "You will do what I tell you, when I tell you. Understand?"
Avery glared at Joyal but pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the mattress.
"Good. Now eat."
Avery took one careful bite of the beige mush and immediately spit it back into the bowl. "It tastes like wet concrete."
"That was rude," Joyal said. He crossed his arms as he loomed over Avery.
"That was disgusting," Avery shot back.
"You used to like it. Anyway, that's what I made. You can have something else once you've finished this." Joyal stood over Avery for a moment more then strode off. At the door, he said with a condescending smile, "It's better when it's warm."
Alone, Avery laid on his side and frowned at the affronting bowl of slop. He must have dozed off; when he woke the bowl was no longer steaming. He poked the contents with the spoon, finding it almost solid. He shoved it away in revultion.
He tried to sleep again. The bowl taunted him from the side. He needed to get rid of the food before Joyal came back, but he refused to eat it.
In hindsight, it would have been better to let it sit indefinately.
Joyal returned as Avery was scraping the contents into his waste bucket. Avery dropped the spoon, metal clanging against metal. He backed up slowly towards his bed as Joyal watched with a silent from.
"You didn't like it." Joyal casually came over to take the bowl from Avery. He glanced at the bucket and took that too before heading back to the door.
Avery's nerves buzzed in the silence. "I —"
He ducked as the bowl flew past his head, shattering into a million pieces against the wall.
"Clean that up," Joyal said, and left.
Avery knelt shakily among the shards, carefully placing the larger pieces in a pile. Tiny pieces lodged under the skin in his fingers and feet. Invisible shards poked at him hidden in the fabric of his blanket and mattress. He curled up as comfortably as he could away from the mess and waited for the wrath of his captor.
That moment when a whumper digs their fingers into whumpee's chin, nails biting skin. Turning their face, forcing whumpee to look at some unspeakable atrocity that whumper has just committed, not letting whumpee escape from the horror.
Bonus points if the atrocity was on people whumpee knew personally (caretaker, team mates)
Bonus bonus points if whumpee had to choose which person/people had to suffer and now whumper is forcing them to look at the aftermath of their choice.
Requested by @suspicious-whumping-egg for @badthingshappenbingo (original work).
c.w. noncon touching, violent beating, angry whumper, broken bones, head injury, public torture, noncon branding, military whump
—
“No, no, please.”
“What have I told you about English?”
“N-... Nyet, Pavel. Proshu vas, poshchadite menya-”
Pavel’s eyes lit up like a shark who had scented blood at Emir’s broken pleading. “That’s better.” He squeezed his nails further into his wrist as the man tried to scramble away, his eyes flying frantically from the iron set next to the bowl of water and, finally, back to Pavel’s own delighted expression.
That morning, they weren’t alone.
Five other men watched from their beds, all wearing identically lethargic smirks as the prisoner tried to escape his early greeting.
Pavel’s morning tortures had become routine ever since Stanislav had publicly whipped him unconscious. It had set the precedent that Emir was nothing sacred - that discipling him should be a collective effort and, most importantly, it had reminded eager soldiers that nobody was coming to his rescue.
Emir considered this to be the most appealing thought of all.
Anybody could do it, given they were in the mood to wipe the blood off their boots. He wondered if everyone who had watched him getting his back torn into shreds had fantasized about doing it themselves and how it could be possible that he had lived this long.
“Quit struggling, foreigner,” Pavel said, chuckling. “You’re making a scene. Come on, don’t you want a little warming up?”
“Please.”
A round of laughter paralyzed Emir as he continued clawing at Pavel, simultaneously pulling his arm away as he fought for something to hit him with. Pavel snatched his other wrist as Emir attempted to grab his bed’s metal headboard and pulled him so violently over the mattress that, for a second, he felt weightless.
With that, he was pinned against the bed.
“Come, Emir, you’re ruining my mood. It won’t be for long, though, when I brand those gorgeous hands of yours-”
An explosive CRACK and spurt of blood knocked Pavel to the side before he could finish. Emir scrambled away, leaving him groaning and swearing whilst holding the bridge of his nose. He heard another round of roaring, indignant laughter from the onlookers, and at that point, his heart really started to race.
But before long, Pavel was up again, nose bloodied and eyes suddenly lit with a newfound fire. “You…” He started with a half-crazed chuckle.
The intensity of the look made Emir think for an instant that he may have been better off going quietly.
The iron hadn’t moved an inch.
“Really should not have done that.”
Pavel let the blood dribble down his lip and stepped forward, in time for Emir to take a trembling step back. In a sudden explosion of energy, he fucking lunged, too quick for the man to react other than by staring in horror as Pavel’s fist slammed square into his head from above.
He hit the ground with a crack and the voices around him became an indistinguishable flurry.
All he felt were the blows hailing down through his poorly shielding arms, breaking and re-breaking, leaving livid bruises, blinding him until Emir could only thinly wheeze through the mess.
“Ngh- Poshch-'' Emir choked on blood mid-sentence, hearing Pavel’s breathless laugh in return. “S-Stoy-”
“Stoy? I will stop when you’re dead. Though between then and now…” Pavel mumbled, toying with Emir’s lolling head with his shoe. He shot a glance back to the branding iron. “It was going to happen anyway, right?”
A broken sob rang out of his mouth. “Don-... ‘lease. Pavel-” Emir ensured his accent was cleaner when he said the name “You’ll fuck my nerves, you psycopath-.”
Pavel kept his wrists pinned above his head. “Tsk, that is the idea. I was going to be gentle, since you just woke up but my intentions have…evolved.”
As he was dragged across the floor by his ankle, Emir fought and screamed the entire way, trying to latch his fingers into the planks and pulling on his assaulter with as much energy as he had left. It made no difference - the iron only got closer. The whoops and cheers only increased in volume, spiking when Pavel tossed him against a cabinet and his head bounced off the handle of the drawer.
He really screamed at that.
Besides his blood-soaked nose, Pavel was nonchalant as he spun the steel in the furnace and Emir could only weakly watch the glow - a menacing white. Though he couldn’t make out the symbol in the spin. Only that it would soon end up on his body.
He let a few more pleas slip through but none could be heard above the whoops, chants, and now, Pavel’s approaching footsteps. When he reached him, he kicked Emir’s hand out.
“Turn it over.”
“Pavel-”
“I’m running out of patience for you, Emir.”
In turn, Emir was running out of time to be conscious. That, and bones he had left to break.
He weakly complied, tears slipping down his face, and squeezed his eyes shut to brace for the pain. He tried not to think about how this might become a daily occurrence.
Whether Pavel would repeat this performance every day until his body ran out of space.
Whether he would die of infection, in agony, from the accumulated wounds.
But what came next was a splash of liquid cold on his hand that made his eyes pop open and panic stab into his heart. Just as Emir looked down again, pain whited out his mind and within a second, he was wailing.
Pavel had pressed the iron down in its full glory, generating a deafening hissing noise that would have made him sick if he weren’t already screaming.
Right there, in his right palm, as he lay slumped by a cabinet.
Emir didn’t count the seconds of agony the iron pressed home. He only screamed as long as his body registered the pain, his skin melting away under Pavel’s unyielding hand and vicious smile.
His wails grew fainter and fainter until the world dimmed to black.
–-
It must have been the afternoon when the sun cut across his face again. Emir stirred and filled his lungs, feeling unnaturally heavy and damp, as if awakening under thousands of pounds of water. Until he opened his eyes and registered the blood splattered across the floor, dried along his neck and face.
His body was in agony.
As he tried to piece together what the morning had brought, he glanced at his palm where the pain was most potent.
There, almost stitched into the skin, lay an abnormally large “п” character, an inch under his middle finger. The letter was cursively styled and burning, searing red in his palm. Amid his livid confusion, pounding headache and too many sources of pain, Emir tried to remember the letter. His heart stopped when he did.
P.
He stilled, head spinning. Suddenly, the memories of the morning tied together.
And, through the dried tears, blood, and burns, Emir's chest rumbled with laughter.
