Torn - Part 1
Summary: Strife had always been untouchable, arrogant, and ruthless. A vicious Supervillian. It took more than Pandora, or Glory, as she was called in public, knew she had in her to bring him down. But this sets in motion events that Hero could never have imagined.
Warnings: Detailed death threat, swearing, name calling, vomit, extremely violent whump, vivisection, smug whumpee breaking, infection, graphic infection, fever, delirium, panic, scared whumpee, sick whumpee, begging, crying, restraints, violent torture.
Tagging @whumpwillow, because I saw the idea on her blog, and @equestrianwritingsstuff, who encouraged me to write this.
Update, changed their names
“I’ll kill you for this, you little bitch.” Strife snarled, as he was dragged towards the prison transport. “When I get my hands on you, I will break you, body and spirit.”
You already have. Pandora thought, as he was dragged into the truck. She was breathing hard, her heart racing, her body bruised and battered from the fight. She could barely stand up, and she had come so close to dying in that fight. forty-five minutes of being thrown around by that brute. She wanted to cry. She’d been so scared the whole time, so scared that one of his custom made knives would find one of her vital organs, and tear the life out of her.
“And then I’ll fucking strangle you.” Strife shouted, even as the doors slammed shut.
Pandora groaned, closing her eyes. She felt sick, and she knew she had at least three broken ribs.
But I finally beat you, you monster. She thought, clinging to the miracle that was her victory. They’ll lock you away, and I’ll never see you again.
It brought a little comfort when she thought of it that way. He’d never menace her again, never injure her again. The whole city was safe from him.
Pandora made her way home, limping down the rainy streets and back alleys, avoiding people as best she could. No one knew her real identity, and she didn’t want that to change.
When she got inside, it took all of her effort not to faint right there in the front hall. Shivering, she climbed the steps, and made it into the bathroom. She staggered over to the sink, and threw up. Exhausted, she rinsed the sink, and climbed into the shower, watching as blood from various cuts washed down the drain.
Damian growled, tugging against the restraints on his arms. If that little brat Glory hadn’t stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong, then he wouldn’t be in this situation.
Insufferable little twit. She’ll pay for this. He thought, watching as his jailer picked up one of his knives.
“Be careful, they’re sharp.” Damian sneered, feeling only the faintest flicker of alarm as the man walked towards him, and placed the tip of the blade at his solar plexus.
“Oh, I’m aware.” The man replied, pressing ever so slightly.
Damian hissed as blood began to run out of the small cut. “If this is meant to scare me-”
“It’s not meant to scare you. It’s meant to break you.” His captor smiled, and dug the knife in deeper, before tugging it down. Damian gasped, trying to squirm away. The restraints made it impossible. As the knife continued its downward path, Damian screamed, again trying to thrash around. By the time his captor drew back, the cut extended from his solar plexus to below his naval.
The man walked over to a table with various metal tools, and selected something that looked like it came from a medieval torture chamber. Unfortunately, Damian could guess its purpose; to hold the wound open.
“N-no.” He stammered, overwhelmed by the terror and pain. “No, p-plea...please. Y-you c-can’t do this.”
“You don’t seem to be in any position to stop me.” The man noted, and got back to his work.
1 week later
The phone rang at three in the morning. Groaning, Pandora answered it.
“Mmmmf?” She mumbled, still half asleep. Had she not been, she would have realized that this was the untraceable phone the police sometimes called her from. That sank in the moment a quiet voice spoke.
“Glory? Is this Glory?
Pandora sighed. “Yes, this is Glory.”
“You have to get Strife out of the prison.”
Oh great, a crank call.
“Why would I do that?” She asked in a low voice, the one she used in public.
“They’re torturing him. They... Glory please, they vivisected him.”
All the edges of sleep vanished, and Pandora bolted up.
“They. Did. What?” She asked.
“Vivisected him. I saw it happen.”
“Who are you?”
“A prison nurse.” Came the hushed voice. “Please, he’s unguarded. You could get in through the window. Cell 10. Isolation. Oh, please come.”
With that, the line went dead.
Hero frowned. It could be a trap, but if it wasn’t she couldn’t leave Strife to be tortured, no matter how much she hated him.
After setting fire to an empty wing of the ward to create a distraction, she did end up climbing in the window, which, thankfully, was on the first floor, and sneaking down the hall of the isolation ward until she came to cell ten.
Carefully, she wired the code box on the door, and it slid open. As she entered the dimly lit room, she carefully covered the camera with her jacket.
Her heart dropped into her stomach as she took in the sight of the supervillain.
He was lying on his back, very thoroughly restrained. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his trembling body drenched in sweat. His eyes were open, staring at nothing.
“Shit.” Pandora breathed, and crept closer, feeling nausea rise in her throat as she saw the crudely stitched wound on Strife’s abdomen. It was oozing both blood and pus.
“Hey.” Pandora murmured, gently placing her hand on his wrist.
The man whimpered, trying to pull away.
“No.” He whined, drawing the word out until it was more of a whimper.
“Ssssshhhh. Sssssshhhh, it’s alright.” Pandora soothed, and began undoing the restraints.
“Saving your nemesis dear?” A voice asked. Pandora whipped around, drawing her gun.
The man facing her looked ordinary enough, except for his eyes. They were soulless, empty.
“Saving someone who needs my help.”
“He’s a menace.”
“And you cut him open. Tore him apart.” Pandora snarled. At the words, Strife began to sob, begging incoherently.
“And you’re next.” The man said, picking up a scalpel.
“Think so?” Pandora asked sweetly, and squeezed the trigger of the tranquilizer gun. The bolt hit the man square in the neck, and he staggered backwards. Taking advantage of his shock, Pandora used the butt of the gun to hit him over the head. He fell to the floor, unconscious, and Pandora quickly returned to the delirious supervillain’s side.
Senseless with fever, he moaned and begged incoherently as she freed him from the leather straps.
Carefully, she wheeled the stretcher he was lying on over to the door, and down the empty hall. It seemed that most of the guards were still occupied with her distraction, and Pandora was able to sneak out the emergency exit with Strife.
Finally, she carefully got him into her car, and laid him on the back seat, careful not to aggravate the massive wound on his stomach any more than it was already.
With a heavy heart, she drove home.
Parking in the garage, she carefully hauled Strife inside, and tried to carry him up the stairs, in the end, she had to drag him, though his squeaks of pain made her stomach twist.
Finally, she hauled him into the guest bed, and examined his mutilated stomach.
“Plea...se.” Strife moaned. “No... more...”
“Sssshhh. It’s alright now. I’m going to fix... this.”
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