âś– - a repressed memory
It’s dark, hazy, like a nightmare of a time long since passed. His arms were held behind his back, and his legs refused to touch the floor, all four limbs restrained by a chitinous mess of tendrils, refusing to let go. He we in immense pain as he felt his limbs being bent backwards to their breaking point, held just on the edge. He grit his teeth, tasting iron, or so he expected, the taste long having been accustomed to by this point. How long had he been here?
Then, all of a sudden, the restraints loosened, and the pain started to ebb away, just enough for him to recover to see his surroundings. Just like the last time. It was still the same circular room, blacked walls of coral growths with light-sickly yellow moss glowing, giving the room light. It stank, stank of grime and death. It wasn’t clear who died, or what, not in this room where he could see nothing more that this room. He was the only occupant of this room, not that he could suffer loneliness when his wardens kept him in constant pain. It took all of his strength just to see this blasted prison cell. Pain. It’s all these monsters lived for, and what they subjected on this galaxy.Â
How could he get out? How could he get free? The questions circled through his mind in the brief moments of clarity he had before the restraints tightened once more, pulling him back into the searing pain that demanded his attention, that refused to let him be. He was never allowed to get used to the pain. This blasted living torture device was too damn effective, never letting him get past the breaking point, but never letting him recover properly. Constant pain. Never ending pain.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to get out. He needed to be free. He grit his teeth harder, ignoring the taste of blood trickling from his mouth. He’d been so distracted by the pain, so cold, isolated, alone. It was only him and the pain. No matter how many Vong came to interrogate him, it didn’t matter. He had refused to give them anything. No information, and no begging. His pride was too much to swallow.
If there was any solace in that, it meant that he had at least one thing to focus on. The Pain. He focus on that pain and he gave himself to it...and then, he lost control. He only had flashes of memory, scenes of blood and gore, black ichor liquid of the Vong splattering across halls and rooms. It was hard to tell which ones were living and which ones were dead, considering how they mutilated themselves in the first place. If anything, they could go to their gods looking beautiful in their own eyes. The worms that they used to clean these halls would have a feast to dine on after he was done. The flashes would continue, but the scenes were the same. Black coral halls, black blood, and bodies piled high.
When he finally had control of himself, he realized, he was in a forest, overlooking a large outpost....he was out...and it reeked. The smell of blood and gore, it wasn’t just the cell any more. Death’s stench now pervaded every inch of the complex, and the forest....
Of course, it’s not like he remembered any of that now....except the pain....
