Toshiro Mifune As Detective Murakami In Stray Dog (1949) Dir. Akira Kurosawa

Whumpay - Day 2

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Paralytic Drug Mini Challenge 2 - Torture - Whipping Original Work - Doorway in the Sky

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Can’t be that bad, right?”

Ash frowned at Mel and sighed loudly out of his nose. “You ready then?”

Mel nodded.

Ash jumped, slammed his hands down on the table, and swept their food trays off. The hard plastic clattered loudly on the tile and the food painted the jumpsuits of the nearby people.

Mel’s wide eyes goaded Ash on.

“The fuck did you say?” Ash shouted.

Then he threw himself across the table and tackled Mel to the ground. One punch to the nose got Mel’s blood flowing. Several guards jogged over and tried to pull him off her. Soon enough, Ash felt a prick on the back of his neck, and then nothing.

He stopped wrestling Mel and reached back. There was a dart sticking out of his neck. He yanked it out and saw the yellow band about the metal casing. His lips went numb. His fingers tingled. His hands fell to his sides.

And Ash slumped to the tile floor, hitting it cheek first. It hurt like a bitch.

Mel lay beside him and met his eyes. She grinned through blood-stained teeth.

Ash would have smiled if he could. But he could not. He had been hit with the yellow banded dart. The paralytic. Oh good.

Ash’s eyes slipped mostly closed as he was hauled from the floor. He could still hear and feel everything. Plastic restraints were tightened around his wrists and ankles. Which didn’t make much sense since he was paralyzed.

Ash watched the floor flash by beneath him. His head, hanging limp, bobbed with every step the two orderlies holding him up took. Their grip on his arms hurt. But there was nothing he could do.

They were buzzed through several doors. The hallways became quieter. The floors became cleaner. Whispers all around him.

Finally, Ash was brought into an office and propped up in a soft chair. With his chin resting on his chest, all Ash could see was the plush, patterned carpet and a pair of shiny, black shoes.

Drool dripped from the side of his mouth.

“Lift her head.”

A pair of sweaty hands clamped onto Ash’s cheeks and propped his head against the back of the chair. When the orderly stepped away, Ash was looking up into the face of Dr. Palmer.

Dr. Palmer gave Ash a small smile then held up his penlight. “You know what to do, look into the light.”

He shone the light into Ash’s eyes and leaned in close.

Ash could smell coffee and disinfectant on him.

“Mmhmm, pupillary response is good.” Dr. Palmer leaned back. “Good, good. Now I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions, would you please blink once for ‘Yes’ and twice for ‘No’? Demonstrate by blinking once for ‘Yes, I understand the instructions.’”

Ash rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“This will go much quicker and easier if you cooperate.”

Ash blinked once.

“Thank you.” Dr. Palmer made a note on his clipboard. “Now, is your name Ashley Durham?”

Ash blinked once.

“Is your birthday the twenty-second of June?”

Ash blinked once.

“Do you know why you’ve been brought to my office today?”

Ash blinked twice.

Dr. Palmer chuckled and set down his clipboard, taking off his glasses to polish them a little with a handkerchief. “Ms. Durham, Ashley, I think you know why you’ve been brought to my office today. You were fighting. Again.”

Ash looked around the office as Dr. Palmer talked. He spotted the curtains on one wall almost immediately.

Dr. Palmer’s eyes flicked up and focused on something behind Ash’s left shoulder. He nodded. The pair of orderlies picked up Ash by the shoulders again, holding him upright in a standing position. Ash’s head fell back and he was able to see Dr. Palmer’s faint smile.

Dr. Palmer turned around, walked away, and took a cane from a stand across the room.

“Ashley, why would you want to hurt your best friend?”

Ash would have shrugged if he could. He just couldn’t move any part of his body right now, other than his eyes. And he could not help but look at the curtains again.

Dr. Palmer returned to Ash and the orderlies, brushing against the curtains as he went.

There was a flash of sunlight as the curtains rippled.

Ash drew in a quick breath and felt tears form in his eyes.

“Seeing you hurt your friend has hurt me.” Dr. Palmer stopped in front of Ash, blocking his view of the curtains.

This was Ash’s first glimpse of sunlight in months.

Months that had stretched on and on, feeling like decades. Or centuries. It has been so long since Ash had felt the warmth of sun on his skin. So long without daylight.

Dr. Palmer had a window. The only window Ash had seen in the Institute.

Ash hungered for sunlight. He felt something feral and innate rise within his belly and chest.

Dr. Palmer was still speaking.

Ash ignored him until Dr. Palmer took Ash’s chin in his hand. Warm, soft fingers stroked Ash’s cheek.

“Ashley, would you please listen to me? I want to help you.”

Dr. Palmer angled Ash’s face away from the window and towards him.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Dr. Palmer’s voice dropped down to a murmur.

Ash could feel his breath on his cheek.

“Are you listening to me, Ashley?”

Ashley blinked twice.

Dr. Palmer sighed and removed his hand from Ash’s chin and wiped the drool off his fingers on the front of Ash’s jumpsuit.

“You’ve let me down. And what’s worse is that you’ve let yourself down.” Dr. Palmer stepped back and nodded at the two orderlies holding Ash.

Their grips tightened.

Dr. Palmer disappeared. Then his voice came from behind.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Ash focused on the curtain. The tiniest sliver of sunlight was poking, needle-like, through a gap.

The blow came down upon Ash’s shoulders. He heard it before he felt it.

Ash gasped and choked on the drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

The cane landed again on his back, a swift stinging blow. Loud as a gunshot in Ash’s ears. Bruising. The cane felt as though it were made of fire.

Another blow.

Ash heard himself groan, low and guttural.

Another blow.

Ash panted. Felt tears rolling down his cheeks.

That little finger of sunlight. Through a window. From the outside.

The last blow.

Dr. Palmer reappeared. He was saying something again to Ash but Ash had long ago tuned him out. Ash was dragged out of the office, back down the clean hallways, out of the quiet, and back into madness.

Hours later, Mel returned to their cell. The door buzzed shut and the lights out warning was given.

“Ash.” Mel whispered close to his ear.

Ash, laying belly-down on his cot, turned his head.

In the harsh fluorescent lights from above, Mel’s nose was purple and gray with bruising. One eye was blackened and swollen.

“Tell me.” Mel murmured.

Ash looked into her eyes. “I saw sunlight.”

Mel’s face crumpled into a watery smile and she kissed Ash’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“When we go,” Ash spoke so quietly he could barely hear himself.

“We go through there.”

“I’ll go with you anywhere.”

Ash turned his head away and faced the wall again. He stared at the hundreds of tally marks he had made. One for every day he had been in the Institute. “One more thing.” He whispered.

Mel’s fingers brushed gently through his hair. “What?”

The lights went out.

“Before we go, I’m killing him.”

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

(The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 2015)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“You should not be here.”

This was the first thing that Solo said to Illya in two weeks.

“Too bad.” Illya whispered and finished uncuffing Solo from the metal chair. The dim bulb above made it hard to parse Solo’s expression, as did the bruises. 

“You should have left.” Solo stood slowly, arm wrapped around his chest. He leaned over and spat dark blood on the floor before speaking again. “Why didn’t they bring you in?”

Illya jerked his head towards the door, holding out a pistol.

Solo took it.

Illya took the lead and left the room. “They tried.”

He heard Solo wheeze out a laugh softly behind him.

They finally got outside and Illya led the way to the first car he spotted, halfway down the street from the warehouse. It was unlocked. But no keys. 

While Illya hotwired the vehicle, Solo eased himself into the passenger seat, groaning in pain.

The engine rumbled into life.

Illya slammed the door closed and caught sight of Solo’s face. His head was back against the headrest and his brows were furrowed. The harsh light of day brought the bruises into sharp relief. Yellowing greenish contusions that were healing. And darker, reddish purple for newer ones. 

Illya gripped the steering wheel hard and set his foot against the gas. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They sped off into the sunset.

An hour later, sun down and surrounded by dark trees, Illya pulled the car to the side of the road.

“We have arrived at milepost-” Illya turned and noticed his companion was asleep. “Solo.”

No answer.

Illya reached out and just barely touched his shoulder when Solo gasped awake. He pressed as far away from Illya as the car door would allow.

“Solo.” Illya retracted his hand and filed that reaction away for later. 

“Y-yes.” Solo relaxed a little. “What?”

“We have arrived at milepost 8. This is where we start walking.”

Solo sighed. “That sounds like the last thing I want to do.” His voice was hoarse.

Illya left the car and circled around to Solo’s door and opened it. “Too bad.”

Solo unfolded himself gingerly from the car. “Where-” He stopped to breathe. “Are we going?”

“Remote cabin.” Illya retrieved two bags from the side of the road from underneath some bushes, damp with dusk dew.

Solo limped over and took the map, compass, and bag Illya held out to him. “How remote?”

“We will arrive by dawn if we make good time.”

Solo swore, coughed, and swore again as he slung the bag over his shoulders. 

Illya paused for a moment and looked his partner up and down.

“What?” Solo asked. Hunched over. Already panting. 

“Can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Make good time?”

Solo straightened up immediately. Even in the darkness of night, Illya could see his jaw was set. Eyes gleaming.

“No pain, no gain.” Solo grated out. 

“That does not make any sense. Follow me.” Illya led the way into the dark trees.

A few hours later, Illya stopped and waited for Solo to catch up. “Water.”

Panting, Solo nodded.

They both drank from the canteens in the bags and caught their breath. The forest was thick with trees and brush and the hillsides were steep with slippery pine needles and rocks. It was slow going. Slower than Illya had hoped. But it could not be helped. 

He watched his partner take out the map and compass. 

“Flashlight?” Solo wheezed.

Illya stepped over and flicked on his flashlight.

Solo took a small step back, map shaking in his hands.

“Th-this is the location?” He pointed at a small pen mark in the middle of the map.

Illya stopped where he was. “Yes.”

“Right.” Solo sighed, held the compass into the flashlight’s beam, turned a pace or two to the right. “We need to be going this way.”

“We should take a break.” Illya did not want to push Solo too hard. The way he was favoring his chest suggested a broken rib. Or more. And that could not be all. The point of rescuing Solo was not to kill him in the process. 

“Sit down.” Illya urged his partner.

“No.” Solo pocketed the compass and map again. “Sorry, but if I do that, I won’t get up again. We keep moving. Unless, you need a break?”

It was dark but Illya could hear a little smile in Solo’s last words. At least he felt well enough to needle Illya. 

“We keep moving.” Illya agreed. 

The first tatters of dawn were showing when they reached the cabin. They were cold and damp from a mist that had settled into hills. Feet wet from fording a few streams. They trudged inside. It was bare bones. Cool and musty. A fireplace. A table. Kitchen sink. Bed in the corner. 

“This is honestly worse than the warehouse.” Solo drawled, panting. He dropped his bag to the creaking wooden floor planks.

“Be grateful.” Illya sniffed and set down his pack on the rough table. “You are safe here.”

“Yes, safe from a hot bath.”

“There is a gas generator and well-water. This is better than most hotels.” Illya dryly said.

Solo edged closer to the kitchen windows and stripped off his jacket and damp shirt slowly and painfully.

Illya stayed across the cabin, despite how much he wanted to help.

Finally free of the shirt, Solo let it drop to the floor and looked down at his torso. In the dim dawn light from the grimy windows, Illya could see a mess of mottled bruises, the worst of it dark like thunderclouds over Solo’s ribs.

Illya realized Solo was falling before Solo did.

A brief moment. A sway. Eyes glazed. Eyelids fluttering.

Illya strode across the cabin and caught Solo as he went down, head hanging limply. The heat coming off Solo’s body was concerning. And he was slick with sweat. 

Solo’s faint only lasted a moment.

He began to thrash in Illya’s arms, pushing away. Frantic. A rough sob tore from his throat.

“Stop.” Solo’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t.”

Illya did not drop Solo to the floor but lowered him as carefully as he could as Solo struggled. And then he backed away.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

Solo propped himself against the kitchen cabinets, panting, eyes wide and wet. Tears threatened to fall.

“Sorry.” Solo coughed. “I don’t-”

“It is fine.” Illya cut him off. “They beat you. I know. I am sorry.”

Solo just breathed and shook then closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“You are safe now.” Illya knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would fix this. But he tried. “You rest. I keep watch. I will keep you safe.”

A few tears hit the wood floor, soft sounds, the only sound. 

“Thanks, Peril.”

Reservoir Dogs (1992)

Whumpril 2023 Day 18: “Take me instead.”

L.A. Confidential (1997)

Mediwhump May - Day 6

"Needlephobic"

(Mystery Men - 1999)

@mediwhumpmay

“What was he wearing?” Roy limped over to the curb, Eddie guiding him by the arm.

“Shingles.” Eddie grunted as they sat down together.

Jeff shielded his eyes from the flashing blue and red lights across the street. “He had fashioned them into some kind of armor. My forks were nearly useless.”

Roy grimaced as he stretched out his leg.

“You got him eventually, right in the ass.” Eddie added. 

“True.” Jeff sighed as he counted his leftover ammunition. “He deserved it. Especially for the nails. Why does one decide to use a nail gun when interrupting a performance of Shakespeare in the Skate Park?”

“Roofing.” Roy grasped the long nail embedded in the meat of his inner thigh and pulled. It slid free, painfully, covered in blood. Roy let out a long whine and held back a sob. “His theme is roofing.” He rasped. 

“Oh.” Eddie nodded. “The shingles, the nail gun, the-”

“The rebellion against roofless theater productions?” Jeff finished. 

“So weird.” Roy sighed. “But dedicated.”

Eddie caught sight of the bloody nail that Roy held. “Oh no, Roy, you should have let the medics take that out.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Roy waved him off. “I’ve had worse. Besides, they’re busy with Mercutio.”

“I suppose-” Eddie cut himself off. “Oh come on, Roy, you’ve got one in your hand!” He grabbed Roy’s wrist and held it up.

The long nail had flown through Roy’s palm and the tip poked through the back of his hand. It wasn’t bleeding much, but that was because the nail was plugging the hole. 

Jeff frowned. “How many did he get you with, Roy?”

“I dunno.” Roy shrugged. He was tired and sore and thinking was hard. “ A few.”

“A few?” Eddie stood up. “How do you not know? Hang on, let’s do a count. I can’t believe I have to do this for you.”

“I can believe it.” Jeff stood up too. 

“Going to need a metal detector.”

“Come on, guys. I just wanna go home.” Roy whined. 

“Okay, so one in the hand.” Eddie ignored him and began to circle, looking for other nails. “One in the boot. Ouch, straight through your foot.” “Yeah, I was nailed to the stage for a minute.” Roy laughed weakly.

Jeff laughed as well then quickly stopped. “The one from his thigh.”

“Three so far.” Eddie nodded. 

“I think that’s it.” Roy grumbled.

“Let’s at least get you checked out.” Eddie offered his hand to help Roy up from the curb. “Also when was the last time you got your tetanus shot?”

“My what?”

Eddie looked over at Jeff, who nodded silently.

“Let’s go to the clinic.”

“Aw, man.” Roy whined.

Ten minutes later, they piled out of Eddie’s car and into the 24-hour clinic. It was quiet around midnight so the wait was pretty short. A nurse took Roy back, and Eddie and Jeff stayed in the waiting room. 

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Eddie asked Jeff, flipping through a sticky magazine.

“Oh.” Jeff thought for a moment. “Five minutes.” He answered.

“How about ten?”

“You’re on. I’ll watch the clock.”

Four minutes later, the nurse reappeared. 

Jeff stood up. “You owe me dinner.”

The nurse walked over. “Would either of you be able to accompany your friend? He’s…” She searched for a word. “Agitated.”

Eddie stood too. “We’ll both come back.”

The nurse led them back to the examination room. Roy immediately tried to leave as soon as she opened the door. 

“Eddie, I’m fine. Let’s leave. Get me out of here.” Roy spoke quickly in a low mutter. “Come on, Jeff, let’s go, let’s go.”

“Whoa, there.” Eddie gently corralled Roy back in, like a spooked horse. “They’re just going to give you a little check-up, Roy.”

“And a shot!” Roy’s voice almost squeaked. “I don’t-... I don’t like…” “Don’t like needles.” Eddie finished. 

Roy sat back down on the exam table, pale and sweating. “Yeah.” He whispered. 

“We know, that’s why we’re here.” Eddie reassured. “It’ll be really quick. You don’t want tetanus, right?”

“Lock-jaw, Roy.” Jeff chimed in, seating himself in a nearby chair. 

“That actually sounds better than the shot.” Roy said.

“You won’t even feel it.” Eddie said. “Besides, you’ve been stabbed before, Roy, how are you scared of needles?”

“I dunno. I’d rather be stabbed. Can they do that? Use a knife? For the shot?” Roy looked around. “Or a scalpel. Anything but…” He trailed off. 

“You know.” Jeff tapped his chin in thought. “This reminds me of the time we saved the blood drive nurses from the Blood Bandits and you lost so much blood that they just strapped you in the chair to give you blood with that absolutely enormous needle-”

“Okay, okay.” Roy hopped off the table. “I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you do that, Roy.” Eddie stood in his way. “As your friend, I am going to make sure you get this shot.”

Roy laughed, pretended to back off, then feinted to the left, and made a dash to the right. He tried to get to the door. But he was full of nails and too slow. 

Eddie grabbed him. Jeff stood in front of the door. 

And then the doctor walked in. 

“What have we here?” She asked. 

All three of them stopped struggling. 

“Nothing.” Roy straightened his coat. 

“Nothing.” Eddie let go of Roy.

“Nothing.” Jeff picked up a fork he’d dropped. 

“I see.” The doctor put down her clipboard. “Well, which one of you is Roy?”

Jeff pointed at Roy.

“Thanks, man.” Roy sighed. 

“I will take a bullet for you, Roy, but not a shot”

The doctor sighed. “So Roy, you had an accident with a…” She turned a page. “Nail?”

“Nail gun.” Eddie corrected. 

“Okay, and how many nails?” “Three.” Roy sighed.

“We think.” Jeff added. 

“You think?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure.” Eddie admitted.

“Uh-huh.” The doctor paused for a moment, looked over each of them, then proceeded. “Well, let’s get those nails out, Roy. Then we’ll go from there.”

Roy nodded, almost green.

The doctor and an assistant bandaged the thigh wound and extracted the nail from Roy’s foot. The hand was last. Slowly, carefully, the doctor took the nail out and dressed the wound. She kept up a conversation with Roy the whole time, who was visibly relaxing. 

Once that was done, Roy sighed. “That wasn’t so bad. Could we save the-... the shot for another day.”

“No, we can’t.” The doctor answered. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve already done it.” The doctor stepped back. She had been blocking Roy’s line of sight of his other arm. 

The assistant was currently pulling a needle out of Roy’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Roy swayed. And fainted.

“There he goes.” Eddie sighed.

“He’s reliable.” Said Jeff.

Whumpay - Day 4

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Vivisection Mini Challenge 4 - Torture - Begging To Be Killed Original Work - The Sleeping Stones

(content warning - graphic violence)

The silvery light of the glowing noose illuminated the tears running down Ylen’s cheeks from below. He rushed to grab hold of the rope of light, and reeled back with burned hands.

“Alixor.” Ylen gasped. “Alix, what are you doing?”

“You did this.” Alixor sat down heavily in the dewy grass, panting and sweating as though he had just run miles. The spell had taken almost all of his energy. “You did this.” He gasped. “When you refused to help me.”

“What?”

Ylen fell to his hands and knees. His eyes were wide and stared into Alix’s face.

Alixor looked down to the ground, averting his eyes from Ylen’s stricken look.

“You refused to help me.” He said again, much quieter than before.

“Alix, I-”

Alixor pounded his fist into the wet grass. “You won’t help me!” He screamed. Alixor looked to Ylen again. Braved the terrified eyes. “You won’t help my people!”

A beat.

Ylen’s face softens.

But instead of looking scared, Ylen just looks sad.

“I will not kill for you. That is what you mean.”

Alixor shook his head. No, Ylen can not change this. Ylen is wrong.

Ylen continued, voice becoming stronger, the furrows of rage in his face becoming deep in the silver light shed by the noose around his neck.

“I will not use my power to kill.” Ylen said.

Alixor shook his head again, feeling tears pouring from his eyes. “You won’t help me.” He sobbed. “I need help.”

“I am not your weapon. I am your friend.”

“We are not friends. Not anymore.”

Ylen fell silent at this. With shaking hands, Alixor pulled out the rest of his supplies from his bag. When he set the ornate knife on the rock, it rang out softly against the stone. Ylen started and stared at the weapon. But he asked no more questions.

Ylen remained quiet as Alixor finished the spell and bound his hands and feet to the ground, spread-eagle.

Ylen said not a word when Alixor picked up the knife and crouched over Ylen’s body.

He only looked at Alixor. Studying him. Eyes shimmering with the light from the luminous ropes.

“I’m sorry.” Alixor sobbed.

“No.” Ylen smiled. “You are not.”

Alixor plunged the knife into Ylen’s belly and began to carve. Ylen screamed and struggled, but the shining ropes held him fast to the ground. Alixor’s vision was blurred by tears. He continued to cut and cut, laying Ylen’s body open to the air. Exposing every facet of the god’s existence. When Alixor finally found Ylen’s heart, the ground was soggy with blood.

The crimson organ beat wildly in the god’s chest, cradled in a nest of blood and bone and sinew. It was hot. Burning. It almost smoldered.

“Please.” Ylen wheezed.

Ylen had watched Alixor’s every move. Almost like he was committing this atrocity to a memory that would soon be gone.

Alixor wished Ylen would screw up his eyes and just scream. Rather than this. Rather than pleading with him. Anything but this.

“Please.” Ylen repeated. “Please kill me.”

Alixor set down his knife, now slippery with viscera.

“Please don’t use my power for this.”

Alixor had long ago run out of tears. He was feverish and thirsty at this point. Dizzy with the heat of Ylen’s burning body. Who would have thought a god of wildfire would boil on the inside? Alixor braced himself and reached for Ylen’s heart with his bare hand. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t lucid. The cold night spun about him and he gasped for breath.

The heart seared his flesh. Alixor cried out but did not let go. He pulled and tore and wrenched and ripped and twisted. The heart came free. Alixor slumped down on the ground, clutching at his scorched hand. The heart flopped onto the grass and continued to beat.

“Please.” Ylen continued to whisper.

Alixor sobbed, great heaving sobs that nearly choked him. He vomited bile. Then lay there for a long time trying to catch his breath.

“Please don’t use me to kill.”

Alixor, laying on his side, watched the heart continue to beat. It steamed in the cold night air. His hand throbbed. He had to do this. This was the only way. He had to save his people. This would give him the power to save everyone. Alixor reached for the heart again with his blistered hand.

“Please.”

Alixor’s mouth was scalded when he took the first bite of flesh. It hurt even more when he swallowed down the second. Agony bloomed in his stomach. He was on fire, from the inside out. Still, he ate.

Ylen watched him. “Please.”

Alixor kept eating.

Whumpay - Day 8

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Asthma Attack Mini Challenge 7 - Dialogue - “Why are you doing this?” Original Work - Abreoðan

“Abre, this isn’t it. It isn’t here.” Steien put a hand to Abre’s shoulder, feeling the shivers running through Abre’s body. “You should rest.”

“We should go.” Gelic sighed. “It isn’t safe here.”

Abre shook his head and limped closer to the stone wall. His shaking hand raised the torch to illuminate the wall. “It has to be here.” He ignored both of them.

Steien shot a look at Gelic, who just shrugged and frowned.

They had spent a week or so out here. They had checked every cave wall meticulously. Every suspicious groove in the rock. But still, they hadn’t found the carvings that the old stories told of. Abre was so sure the carvings were here.

Steien watched his friend carefully and saw how tired he was. Steien wanted to take Abre home. To let him rest. To let him heal. But Abre was just so stubborn. Abre wanted to find those carvings so badly, it was destroying him.

“Brother.” Steien hissed.

Gelic looked over at him and rolled his eyes.

“Please?” Steien asked.

Gelic’s face softened a little and he walked over to Abre. His hand rose and rested on Abre’s back. “Abreoðan.” He said. “Let us rest for tonight.”

Abre whirled around, his face white and drenched in sweat, each droplet outlined in flame as they reflected the light of the torch. “Rest? I cannot rest!”

Abre looked ill. His blond hair hung limp around his face. He seemed to sway.

“Abre, why are you doing this? What-” Gelic tried again, but Abre cut him off.

“I must find the carvings. If I do not, more people will die. I will not let this ‘body’,” He pronounced the word ‘body’ with such disgust that Steien stepped back. “Stop me from saving them!”

“You are no use to us dead.” Steien tried to reason with him.

“I am no use to you alive!” Abre screamed.

He slammed his staff into the ground. In the dim light of the cavern, his eyes glowed blue. Like lightning.

A roar like thunder.

The ceiling burst open and descended. The torch died. Steien hit the ground hard. He tasted blood and dust. Pebbles trickled like running water. Then, silence.

“Gelic!” He coughed out. “Abre!”

“Here.” Was Gelic’s grunt. “You hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Steien gathered himself and strained to see in the dark. The pale, watery light of dark slithered in from the cave entrance a few twists and turns away. But it was barely enough to see.

Abre was coughing nearby.

“Was that a cave-in?” Steien felt around him. The cave floor was littered with rubble. His hand felt cloth. Then a foot. In the half-light, he found Abre sprawled out on the ground, covered in dust as well.

“Abre’s here.” Steien called out to Gelic. He helped Abre sit up and patted him on the back to ease his coughing. It did not help.

Gelic made his way over. “Let’s go, before the whole mountain comes down on us.”

“I agree.” Steien and Gelic helped Abre to his feet.

Abre’s coughs became thin and wheezing. Each exhale was a sick, whistling sound.

“Abre?” Gelic peered into Abre’s face, trying to see through the darkness.

“Let’s get him outside.”

Together, they half-carried, half-dragged poor Abre to the cave’s entrance. The wheezing became worse.

The daylight was painful after so much darkness. They helped Abre sit down again. Under the layer of stone dust, Abre’s lips were blue. Abre’s only hand was clenched at his robes, making a fist over his chest.

“He can’t breathe.” Gelic sounded a little frantic as he reached around Abre’s neck, looking for the cause.

“The dust.” Steien said. “It was the dust.”

“We’re out of the dust.”

Abre kept coughing. The wheezing sounded so painful. Steien’s heart ached for him.

“I know.” Steien nodded. “We’re out of the dust. But it’s still affecting him.”

Abre slid to the side and hit the ground, gasping with every difficult breath.

“Keep him upright.” Steien ordered. “Sit behind him and hold him upright!”

Gelic scrambled around behind Abre and held him from behind. He kept him sitting up in a careful embrace. Gelic pressed a small kiss to Abre’s sweaty temple when he thought Steien wasn’t looking.

Steien saw it and hid a smile.

“Let’s all breathe together.” Gelic offered. “Abre?”

Abre nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Gelic continued. “Steien, let’s do it together.”

So Gelic, Steien, and Abre worked to get Abre’s breathing under control. Gelic held him gently the whole time. Steien crouched in front of him, keeping him focused.

It took a long time. So long, that Abre fell asleep in Gelic’s arms.

After some time, Gelic whispered to Steien. “Did he do that?”

“Do what?” Steien rubbed his eyes and yawned, noticing how sunset had come upon them so quickly.

“Bring down the rocks.”

Steien thought a moment. “Yes.” He answered, though it pained him to do so.

“His powers are growing.” Gelic mused.

“I wish they weren’t.” Steien watched Abre sleep.

Open Range | 2003

Soo many good tropes here;

- ambushed unbeknownst to caretakers

- left for dead

- worried fatherfigure

- fading in and out of consciousness

- bridal carry

Found this movie through @whumpywhumpas 🌟

More gif sets for this movie coming!!!

Whumpay - Day 3

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Made A Lab Rat Mini Challenge 3 - Torture - Branding Original Work - My Name is Evil

For twelve hours a day, every day, Evelyn had been tested.

They asked him to build from schematics. They asked him to design schematics. They immobilized him in the same chair and had him direct others to build machines.

They gave him drugs. A lot of drugs. They would dose him with something that made him nauseous and faint and dizzy and asked him to complete tasks. Solve equations. Answer their questions. Blindfolded. Ears plugged. Starved. Sleep-deprived. Sedated. Hot. Cold. Dizzy.

Over and over and over.

He was tested under every possible circumstance. Every possible test. Until now.

Evelyn winced as the needle probed beneath his skin and into a vein.

Evelyn wanted to pull away from the needle and the IV bag and everything they were about to do to him, but the restraints kept his wrists, ankles, and chest firmly pressed to the chair. He swallowed hard. The IV needle was taped to his skin and the nurse left the room without even meeting his eyes.

The door hissed and clanged shut.

Evelyn only had a minute or two to try and calm down before the door opened again and someone else entered.

The lady wore a strained smile and a nice suit. She sat down, keeping the table between her and Evelyn. And ignoring him, she began to shuffle through the papers she had brought. After what seemed like ten minutes or so, she spoke.

“My name is Ms. Brown, I am the Assistant Deputy Supervisor at the Bureau of Extrohuman Affairs and Regulation. I am here today to give your official status and category as an Extrohuman, witness your tagging procedure, and answer any questions you have. Do you understand?”

She never looked at him, not once.

Evelyn opened his mouth to speak.

The nurse came back.

Ms. Brown continued. “Evelyn Earl, your tests indicate that you place with the Enhanced Category, subtype Intelligence, archetype Crafter, division Mechanics.”

The saline was cold and Evelyn began to shiver. Of course he was good with machines. That was obvious. Why did they have to test for it? Why?

The lady continued. “Established legal precedents necessitate a procedure to display your status upon your person, this is sometimes called tagging. Once this procedure is completed, displaying this status mark will be used in conjunction with other identification you carry in order to comply with requests for identification. Please give verbal confirmation that you understand this procedure.”

The lady stopped talking and looked up at Evelyn. Staring at him.

Finally looking right into his eyes. Nothing in her expression indicated that she was looking at another human being. He may as well be another piece of paper that needed initials and dates.

Evelyn started when he realized he was meant to speak.

“Oh.” He licked his dry lips. “Right, yeah, I understand.”

The lady made another note on her papers. The room was so quiet that Evelyn could hear her pen scratching.

Eventually, the lady looked up and nodded at the nurse. “You may proceed.”

The nurse wheeled a cart with a machine closer to Evelyn. The nurse turned it on and the machine began to hum. Evelyn only began to panic when the nurse began to untie the front of his gown.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn felt his heart begin to quicken.

The nurse bared his chest and disinfected the skin over his heart.

The lady with the papers got up from the table.

“What is the procedure?” Evelyn asked, panic edging his voice.

“Identification.” Was all the lady answered.

The nurse leaned in close, holding something like a pen, which was connected to the machine by a cord.

“What is that?” Evelyn could not tear his eyes away from the strange pen.

The nurse turned and looked at the lady.

The lady shrugged.

What was tagging?

When the pen first touched his skin, Evelyn thought he had been cut. But when the smell of sizzling, burning, charred flesh filled his nose, he knew this was false.

Evelyn let out a scream and struggled to get away from the electrocautery device. But the bindings held him firmly.

The pain continued and amplified.

Evelyn thought he could hear the pain. Like barbed wire screeching through his ears.

He screamed again. And again. Evelyn felt sweat bead upon his forehead and roll down into his eyes, stinging and hot. He sobbed until his throat became raw. It went on and on, for what felt like hours.

Then, the hum of the machine ceased. The nurse moved away. A crinkling sound

Evelyn was left panting. He cracked his eyes open and saw the nurse was unwrapping bandages.

He could not stand it any longer. He needed to know.

Evelyn looked down to his chest, to the spot over his heart.

Shiny, bleeding burns. The smell of cooked flesh. Skin crackling.

A series of numbers and letters. They meant nothing.

But they were now branded into him. Into his flesh. Tagging. Identification.

Evelyn let out another sob.