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🚶🏾♀️
It's been hours since the mission had gone rogue.
Hours since Price saw the rest of his team.
Hours since he heard Nik's voice lose control over the intercom, hours since he heard the choking of blood over his intercom.
The room was cold. The chair he was sitting on was poking into his skin. Price could feel the water dripping down his back, making it hard to dissociate. Not that he could anyways. The rope was digging into his skin, and the wound in his thigh would only render him useless if he decided to run.
The room was spinning from the blood loss, and he had nothing within reach to defend himself. And he couldn't see much without the lights, just vague shapes and figures, nothing to access the danger levels by.
They stripped him down hours ago, leaving only underwear to cover his bits. He had watched as the men forced Simon on the ground, tearing the mask off of him, if just for the ability to humiliate the great 'Ghost' by stripping down the only thing that protected him and his identity.
He didn't know where Gaz was, nor Soap or Simon. The last he heard of them were horrified screams from Simon after a bang.
He desperately hopes none of his team is dead.
The gods above him seem to disagree with him.
A few more hours of waiting, and a click. The room instantly filling with light. It blinded him, if anything. Though seeing the room he was in filled with medical supplies did nothing to calm his nerves. A voice flooded the intercom above him as a face too familiar was pushed into the room across from him.
"Mr Price, I must admit. Your team was... Most definitely trained, no? Like dogs on a leash."
Oh.
Oh.
His sweet beautiful Nik. Reduced to something sub human from torture. How did he end up looking like that?
He wants to reach out across the room, to hold the ruined body of his loved one close.
He could tell Nik was still alive, if the way he was still shouting slurs to the men was anything to go by.
But he looks so, so much worse. His hair was shaved off, a large ugly stamp on his head. Labeling him with a number rather than his name. Price noted that Nik too, was naked, though any relief from shared shame was replaced by the horror from the marks decorating Nik's body.
His body, covered in lashes and blisters. His fingernails were bloodied and worn out. Price could see Nik stumbling in the room, the wound on his knees made Price gagged.
Price wasn't too sure how Nik had survived all that and was still faring, still cursing and spitting on one of his captors foot as he watched across from him.
He watched as the men buckled Nik down, strapping him into a chair similar to his as they both stared at each other's.
And suddenly, any rage or disgust in Nik's eyes softened into something human, something akin to adoration, to love.
Although love might have just cost Nik his whole bloody world.
Because the men above saw this, took notice of this, saw how Nik calmed down upon seeing Price (mostly) unharmed.
It's been several hours, or days. Price really couldn't tell, fading in and out of consciousness before buckets of icy cold water were tossed on him.
He's been dehumanised, degraded, destroyed over and over again, before molded back into something vaguely human shaped by the hands of his captors.
He couldn't tell what was happening, not the time, not the place, not the faces in front of him.
All he really could make out was Nik's constant look of horror whenever he looked over to him, his face twisted into something akin to agony.
Price can't tell how he felt.
He felt numb, if anything.
The constant pain from being dehumanised was almost impossible to handle.
He knew he was covered in his own vomit, or blood. Or something that was human in nature. Perhaps shit. Perhaps pee. He can't tell.
He knew he stink, and that was it.
He knew the times when the men would leave him alone, giving him some moment to regain himself before dumping hot water on his back, worsening the wounds already there.
Price couldn't tell what the men wanted. Because they seemed to be torturing him for the fun of it. For the ability to see him crumble down like ash in their hands.
Despair was the only thing he could make out, the feeling of losing himself amidst the pain and tears. The feeling of hopelessness as he finally tore into the rotten raw meat in front of him.
He'd shared rooms with rats, with cockroaches, with bugs that nip at him any chance they got.
And what's worse, at some point, he stopped taking notice of Nik across from him.
Nik could only watch as he sees Price gets tortured in ways he had only dreamt of. A lash there, a little waterboarding there, a bit of isolation, and a little testing of drugs, along with the rodents in his room.
He watches as Price stares at him, helplessly as the bastards pump him full of something, and watches as Price wakes up, crying and sobbing before suddenly laughing manically, banging himself on the shit stained walls.
Nik watches as Price was made to eat something flesh like, raw meat. Before being told it was a rat from the sewers.
Nik who could only watch as his love turned into something...disturbing, something inhuman, something that's more animal than man at this point.
Nik who had to watch on, as Price loses himself.
Rage and fury gave way to desperate screams for them to stop, to do whatever they wanted to him instead.
However, the gods above are nothing but cruel and vile creatures, creatures who must have created the human race just to laugh at them, given them emotions and hopes and dreams just for shits and giggles.
Because Price hadn't moved for over a day since the last time they forced moldy bread down his throat.