Remake Me: Prologue

He tried to roll his stiff shoulders, sensing the empty space around him. The heavy shackles at his wrists made rusty, creaking sounds as he shifted. Only the faint brush of stone beneath the tips of his toes told him that he wasn’t suspend in a void. He knew he was blindfolded, but the coarse fabric had covered his eyes for so long that he could scarce feel it against his eyelids. It had become a part of him, like the distant scrape of ancient steel and the stirring of fetid air.

He had forgotten, at some point, why he was here, or when he’d last eaten, or what he had been before he became what he had become. Weren’t dungeons filled with rough voiced guards and the howl of tortured prisoners? It was rather empty, rather dull even, for a dungeon. He was alone, save for the rat.

He wondered, with the errant mind of the soon to be insane, if it was the same rat or a different one. It had been scuttling around for days. Or maybe it was hours. Months even. The rat sniffed the air, coaxed out of some crack in the wall by curiosity, looking to inspect the newest inhabitant of this sunken domain. Slight, clawed appendages scrapped closer. He held impeccably still, debating on whether this furry intruder was a welcome distraction, or an unwanted guest. Whiskers tickled unpleasantly against the sole of his foot, and he decided on the latter, kicking feebly to fend off the nuisance. He heard a squeak as his heel made contact with a surprised rodent snout. There was little satisfaction as it took flight, nails scuttling across stone. The animal would be back, but whether the persistence was due to a short memory span or sheer boredom was beyond him.

He was thirsty. There was a small tube, which rested near his right shoulder, connected to the unreachable ceiling. There must have been some small pride left in him, because it shamed him to turn his face to the tube and catch it between his teeth, suckling to quench his thirst.

Perhaps the rat is the man, and I am the rat.

He laughed at that, and promptly choked, his throat having suffered from long disuse. The brittle sound that escaped him was enough to startle him, making him twitch in surprise. The strain on his arms increased when his feet lost their precarious balance. He winced as the restraints bit deeper into his wrists. Desperate, he tried to balance, to stop the swinging, but he was powerless against gravity, compelled by inertia – a pendulum of flesh, turned by the world. His calves shivered as he settled some of his weight back on exhausted leg muscles, but it was better than the swinging. It was easier this way, lingering in purgatory.

Too close to heaven and he was blinded.

Too close to hell and he burned.

“Pain begets power, begets pleasure.”

He stilled.

“You can wield this power, but it will be painful. You will know pleasure when you bear pain.”

The sound stirred emotions deep inside him. He knew that voice. The memory resided in an obscure level of his consciousness, a behemoth shifting beneath placid waters, ripples thinning before they could break the surface. He could almost place it.

“Are you willing?”

He did not respond, unsure of what acquiescence would entail.

“Already forgotten, haven’t you?” the voice sneered. “Broken already?”

No, he wanted to say, but only a rush of sour air escaped his mouth. He had forgotten how to speak.

“You want to defeat him, don’t you?”

Yes.

Oh gods, yes.

The return of his humanity was searing – the resentment of past, the passion of conviction, the sting of betrayal, the humiliation of imprisonment.

The ache in his chest was for something unnamable and unreachable.

“Yes.” The sound was not human, more like the creak of old metal than the voice of a boy.

“Then let us begin.”

TBC

Author’s Notes: So…This has been lurking around my computer for about six months. I stumbled across it, polished it a bit, and just figured I’d post it to see if any of you perverts want some BDSM . I could pretend this has a plot, but it doesn’t. Yup, you heard right, no plot for this installment, just setting the scene. I just don’t have time to write the whole damn thing right now, so you get a preview with the fancy name of “prologue.” Thanks for reading, and do review. I so love critique. I’m a masochist. On another note, who do think I have all tied up in the dungeon? hehehehe (The rest of this will be posted as a snippet with the fic posted in its entirity at my other account at MediaMiner or Y!Gallery. No one under 18 please!)

P.S. - Title is from an old Impotent Sea Snakes song. Most of you are probably too young, but they're a great old school big hair band. Unbelievable stage shows that are more like free porn.