Who: Damien Thorn, 359, Stan Marsh, and Shang Tsung When: After his capture by the purifiers Where: Cells What: Torment, abuse, imprisonment Rating: R
Damien was not very happy lately. He would be alone for a time. Then the guards would come for him, and he'd be lucky if even one of them ended up feeling sick, phobic, or suddenly suicidal. Those occurrences were less and less frequent; it would seem that these Purifiers were beginning to adapt. They had foregone using repeat injections, as there was really no way to tell when the dosage would wear off or not. It would appear that while he had a very strong immune system, he was not too resistant to nature's next best thing: electrical currents. Besides, they seemed to get some perverse joy out of putting tasers or cattle prods to him every time there was even a hint of a glare in his expressions.
There was a man who liked doing experiments. He supposed their enthusiasm was akin to the types of people who went nuts over some celebrity figures. Having the antichrist here, or at least one of them, was intriguing. Which wasn't quite so good on his end of things. It was mostly repetitious at first. Injecting toxins into his veins, pouring poisonous liquids down his mouth, spraying lethal gases near his nose. All those proved futile. Then they went for more physical methods, seeing how much beatings he could take, or how he would heal from various attacks. The shock therapy was not fun at all, however. That seemed to cause pain to him. And they were quite overjoyed once they found that weakness; especially after one of the medical assistants impulsively jumped out the five-story window when she made the mistake of looking into his eyes for so long (which resulted in him being blindfolded from that point on).
This happened several times a day. He'd be returned to his cell to rest, then they'd come back for him several hours later. This had gone on all day. He had begun to lost count of it all. Finally, this last time, he was tossed into the cell, blindfold over his eyes, hands tied by ropes behind his back. They opted for rope after the handcuffs seemed faulty enough to keep unlocking once they put them on him. He heard their cruel laughs after landing on his arse, followed by that very common sound of the bar-doors to his cell closing. He'd gotten used to that sound by now. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he struggled with the rope. No use.. they'd tied it good. He wondered if anyone else would be thrown in here with him. Or if there were captives in the other cells near his own. For all he knew, he could be the only one on this floor...