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This is a currently untitled second chapter of a joint writing project, the first part of which can be found here. Yes, you must read ch.1 before reading ch. 2, for obvious reasons but also because ch. 1 has the totally awesome manip of a whumped John that inspired the whole thing.
And, please, I beg of you, someone write ch. 3! You do not know how much it pained me, leaving John in such a horrible state Feel free to tack on your own torture, just someone save him! :S
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He was tall, pale, raw-boned but stocky with black hair that hung from his head like wet string. In the pale light and shadows he could have passed for a Wraith at first glance, but lacked the face slits and shark teeth. His eyes were also a pale blue, not flat yellow.
But what startled John was his greeting.
“Hello, Colonel Sheppard.”
Five years in Pegasus, John had been to a lot of places and seen a lot of faces. He considered his memory pretty damn sharp when he was on top of his game, but tense, dizzy and in pain he could excuse his lapse in recollection.
John decided not to reply. Silence could be just as flippant as words, and right now flippant was all he had going for him.
The man walked further into the room, a wraith commander or whatever the non-drones were called trailing not far behind like a drudge. Both wore the standard black long coats, the ones Ronon had said in that deadpan way of his – so deadpanned that even today John didn't know if he'd been kidding – was made out tanned human skin. In the Wraith's arms was a black lacquered box, an arm's length, half an arm wide.
“I would apologize that our first meeting is under such circumstances but,” the man smiled grimly, “in truth I could not have imagined a better scenario.” He circled John, ducking beneath the tendrils and John's arms. The wraith stood to the side, holding the box. “I have to say, it's quite ironic, if you think about it.” He swiped a long finger across the soaked bandage when he ducked John's injured arm.
He stopped in front of John as he observed the blood, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. “My brother,” he said. “He, too, had used a Wraith.”
John's blood froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. The reaction was obvious, because the man smirked, triumphant.
“Of course. Introductions.” He wiped the blood off onto his coat. “I am Karel. Karel Kolya.”
John gasped as though he'd been gut punched, “What the hell?”
“Oh, don't be so surprised, Colonel. Do we not all have kin? And please do not think this an act of revenge. Agustus and I were not that close. Actually, he was quite looking forward to killing me. It's an honor thing; I preferred the company of Wraith – you must admit that their gift of life is quite invigorating. Agustus was not happy about that. But differences aside, he was my brother, and since he could not restore the family's honor by killing me then I felt that I at least could clean up his mistakes by killing you. Honor won't be restored...”
Karel's eyes lost focus. “But it might restore something...” They cleared with a twitch of his head. “It is better than nothing, I suppose.” He moved to the box and opened it, the hinges squeaking. John could feel what remained of his blood draining to his feet. The world tilted, and for a moment he thought – he prayed - that he would pass out.
Inside the box, worms: several long, spiny worms the color of dried blood, their mouths a circle full of teeth and pinchers. They wriggled and squealed and hissed, bodies clicking against each other. Karel slipped his hands into a pair of thick gloves then picked one of the worms up. The worm thrashed, the mouth convulsed, looking for flesh.
“Gorva leeches,” Karel said, studying the little bastard. “Ravenous things. They live in the swamps of Gorvas, a most uninhabitable world but wonderfully diverse when it comes to its many predators. Please, brace yourself, Colonel. This will not be pleasant.”
Karel turn and touched the worm to John's chest, over his heart. Maybe it was the warm skin, maybe the scent of blood, maybe John's heartbeat but the thing pounced like a shark at a feeding frenzy. It latched onto John's skin and whipped it's body back and forth, burrowing until the top of its head vanished.
And, crap, how it hurt, like acid, like fire, like the iratus bug all over again. John's body bucked and he screamed, screamed until his lungs emptied and he was forced to take in more air to keep screaming. And Karel spoke over the screams.
“Do not worry, Colonel, I will not let it reach your heart. The Wraith have used this interrogation dozens of times; we have it down to a fine art.” He tugged on the worm, testing it's hold on John. Then, with a firm yank pulled it out, blood flicking onto his face and coat, more blood oozing down John's body. The pain ebbed, John slumped, panting, shuddering, tears of agony stinging his face.
Karel dropped the worm back into the box. “Just a taste,” he said. He pulled out a knife hidden within his coat when he turned back to John. “They get quite agitated when interrupted.” Flipping John's tags to the side, he pressed the tip of the knife to John's chest just below the collar bones and began to carve. “Wait until you see what they're like when agitated.” The knife bit deep enough to sting like a bitch and draw blood. A vertical line, a horizontal line, lines in between – the bastard was writing on him.
“Sevat,” Karel explained. “It means murderer.” He made the letters long and large to cover the width of John's chest. “In our culture, a man cannot be tortured without reason.”
Through the haze of pain begging him to pass out, the stubborn part of John's brain flickered to life and he coughed up a laugh.
“Really? Cause your brother sure as hell didn't care who he tortured... just to get... what he wanted...”
It earned him a hard slap across the face and a bloody lip. It was with much disappointment, however, that Karel remained calm and cool as though carved out of stone.
“An honor thing,” he said, with a smile and an almost-note of apology.
“The gift of life also makes ya friggin' nuts,” John slurred drunkenly.
Karel shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He sheathed his knife and went back to the box.
John, so pained he could barely think (yet still couldn't seem to pass out), cringed when Karel picked up the blood-spattered worm.
“Agustus had pride issues,” Karel said, moving to John. It was with a touch of shame that John realized he was trembling from more than pain and blood loss. “I do not doubt he did most of what he did for his own wants.” He touched the worm to John's shoulder blade. “A less vital spot, I think. Bone slows the worms.”
The damn leech latched on and dug in with twice the fervor. It was twice the agony. In between screams rubbing John's throat raw were sobs. He could feel the little bastard dig in deep, feel it's mandibles scrape bone, feel the area where it scraped go soft and give.
Then the worm was plucked free, screeching like a wailing baby. The only thing holding John up was the tendrils, and yet he was still conscious. Sometimes he hated how stubborn he could be.
He stiffened as much as his already too-tense muscles would let him when he felt the cold tip of Karel's knife trace down his spine, then up, stopping in the middle then cutting a thin line over his middle rib all the way to the front.
“I think that's enough for today,” Karel said. “But you know what is most fascinating about torture with gorvas, Colonel? They fill their prey with a poison that immobilizes them, should they need to stop eating to defend their meal. It is quite potent. The muscles cramps should be starting soon.” He closed the box's lid. “Enjoy, Colonel.” With a flourished wave of his hand, the wraith and drones followed him from the cell.
John watched him go, wanting to be pissed, but all he could feel was terror.
TBC...
ETA: Chapter 3
Chapter 4
And, please, I beg of you, someone write ch. 3! You do not know how much it pained me, leaving John in such a horrible state Feel free to tack on your own torture, just someone save him! :S
---------------------------
He was tall, pale, raw-boned but stocky with black hair that hung from his head like wet string. In the pale light and shadows he could have passed for a Wraith at first glance, but lacked the face slits and shark teeth. His eyes were also a pale blue, not flat yellow.
But what startled John was his greeting.
“Hello, Colonel Sheppard.”
Five years in Pegasus, John had been to a lot of places and seen a lot of faces. He considered his memory pretty damn sharp when he was on top of his game, but tense, dizzy and in pain he could excuse his lapse in recollection.
John decided not to reply. Silence could be just as flippant as words, and right now flippant was all he had going for him.
The man walked further into the room, a wraith commander or whatever the non-drones were called trailing not far behind like a drudge. Both wore the standard black long coats, the ones Ronon had said in that deadpan way of his – so deadpanned that even today John didn't know if he'd been kidding – was made out tanned human skin. In the Wraith's arms was a black lacquered box, an arm's length, half an arm wide.
“I would apologize that our first meeting is under such circumstances but,” the man smiled grimly, “in truth I could not have imagined a better scenario.” He circled John, ducking beneath the tendrils and John's arms. The wraith stood to the side, holding the box. “I have to say, it's quite ironic, if you think about it.” He swiped a long finger across the soaked bandage when he ducked John's injured arm.
He stopped in front of John as he observed the blood, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. “My brother,” he said. “He, too, had used a Wraith.”
John's blood froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. The reaction was obvious, because the man smirked, triumphant.
“Of course. Introductions.” He wiped the blood off onto his coat. “I am Karel. Karel Kolya.”
John gasped as though he'd been gut punched, “What the hell?”
“Oh, don't be so surprised, Colonel. Do we not all have kin? And please do not think this an act of revenge. Agustus and I were not that close. Actually, he was quite looking forward to killing me. It's an honor thing; I preferred the company of Wraith – you must admit that their gift of life is quite invigorating. Agustus was not happy about that. But differences aside, he was my brother, and since he could not restore the family's honor by killing me then I felt that I at least could clean up his mistakes by killing you. Honor won't be restored...”
Karel's eyes lost focus. “But it might restore something...” They cleared with a twitch of his head. “It is better than nothing, I suppose.” He moved to the box and opened it, the hinges squeaking. John could feel what remained of his blood draining to his feet. The world tilted, and for a moment he thought – he prayed - that he would pass out.
Inside the box, worms: several long, spiny worms the color of dried blood, their mouths a circle full of teeth and pinchers. They wriggled and squealed and hissed, bodies clicking against each other. Karel slipped his hands into a pair of thick gloves then picked one of the worms up. The worm thrashed, the mouth convulsed, looking for flesh.
“Gorva leeches,” Karel said, studying the little bastard. “Ravenous things. They live in the swamps of Gorvas, a most uninhabitable world but wonderfully diverse when it comes to its many predators. Please, brace yourself, Colonel. This will not be pleasant.”
Karel turn and touched the worm to John's chest, over his heart. Maybe it was the warm skin, maybe the scent of blood, maybe John's heartbeat but the thing pounced like a shark at a feeding frenzy. It latched onto John's skin and whipped it's body back and forth, burrowing until the top of its head vanished.
And, crap, how it hurt, like acid, like fire, like the iratus bug all over again. John's body bucked and he screamed, screamed until his lungs emptied and he was forced to take in more air to keep screaming. And Karel spoke over the screams.
“Do not worry, Colonel, I will not let it reach your heart. The Wraith have used this interrogation dozens of times; we have it down to a fine art.” He tugged on the worm, testing it's hold on John. Then, with a firm yank pulled it out, blood flicking onto his face and coat, more blood oozing down John's body. The pain ebbed, John slumped, panting, shuddering, tears of agony stinging his face.
Karel dropped the worm back into the box. “Just a taste,” he said. He pulled out a knife hidden within his coat when he turned back to John. “They get quite agitated when interrupted.” Flipping John's tags to the side, he pressed the tip of the knife to John's chest just below the collar bones and began to carve. “Wait until you see what they're like when agitated.” The knife bit deep enough to sting like a bitch and draw blood. A vertical line, a horizontal line, lines in between – the bastard was writing on him.
“Sevat,” Karel explained. “It means murderer.” He made the letters long and large to cover the width of John's chest. “In our culture, a man cannot be tortured without reason.”
Through the haze of pain begging him to pass out, the stubborn part of John's brain flickered to life and he coughed up a laugh.
“Really? Cause your brother sure as hell didn't care who he tortured... just to get... what he wanted...”
It earned him a hard slap across the face and a bloody lip. It was with much disappointment, however, that Karel remained calm and cool as though carved out of stone.
“An honor thing,” he said, with a smile and an almost-note of apology.
“The gift of life also makes ya friggin' nuts,” John slurred drunkenly.
Karel shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He sheathed his knife and went back to the box.
John, so pained he could barely think (yet still couldn't seem to pass out), cringed when Karel picked up the blood-spattered worm.
“Agustus had pride issues,” Karel said, moving to John. It was with a touch of shame that John realized he was trembling from more than pain and blood loss. “I do not doubt he did most of what he did for his own wants.” He touched the worm to John's shoulder blade. “A less vital spot, I think. Bone slows the worms.”
The damn leech latched on and dug in with twice the fervor. It was twice the agony. In between screams rubbing John's throat raw were sobs. He could feel the little bastard dig in deep, feel it's mandibles scrape bone, feel the area where it scraped go soft and give.
Then the worm was plucked free, screeching like a wailing baby. The only thing holding John up was the tendrils, and yet he was still conscious. Sometimes he hated how stubborn he could be.
He stiffened as much as his already too-tense muscles would let him when he felt the cold tip of Karel's knife trace down his spine, then up, stopping in the middle then cutting a thin line over his middle rib all the way to the front.
“I think that's enough for today,” Karel said. “But you know what is most fascinating about torture with gorvas, Colonel? They fill their prey with a poison that immobilizes them, should they need to stop eating to defend their meal. It is quite potent. The muscles cramps should be starting soon.” He closed the box's lid. “Enjoy, Colonel.” With a flourished wave of his hand, the wraith and drones followed him from the cell.
John watched him go, wanting to be pissed, but all he could feel was terror.
TBC...
ETA: Chapter 3
Chapter 4
