Author's Note: This story is based on a small scene in Land of the Blind; the only scene with Mackenzie Crook's character in it; the nameless editor!

Sometimes, Macca prayed to God to kill him.

He slowed the film down for a moment and he winced inwardly and set it back to normal speed again.

If he were to suddenly drop dead in his chair, Macca would be the happiest man who had ever lived.

He frowned at the dreadful dialogue and he stopped working to rub his temples to try and stop the headache that was starting to form.

Macca had been locked away in the editing room for five years now, with no windows or clocks to tell him what time it was. His ankle was also chained to the table. The inside of the manacle had two large nails which were deep inside of his ankle and whenever Maximilian grew impatient or annoyed with him, he would press a button and electrocute him through those damned nails.

He looked down at his ankle and he gave it a light tug, wincing and sucking air between clenched teeth. The wounds caused by the nails were infected by this point, he could sometimes smell it and on very rare occasions, the man who came in to fill his water dish would pour some peroxide under the manacle to try and clean the wounds.

"Are we taking a break then?"

Terrified blue eyes widened as the president for life suddenly spoke up and with trembling hands Macca went back to work as quickly as he could.

"N…No, sir! I…I…was just…"

"Just what?"

Before he could answer, Maximilian picked up the damned remote and he pressed the large black button.

Pain lanced up from his ankle and he ended up biting his tongue, the taste of copper soon filling his mouth.

"Now…Tell me the truth or I'll hold it longer this time."

He wrung his trembling hands, looking down at the ground helplessly, his tongue throbbing and bleeding from the bite.

"I was taking a small break…" he admitted softly.

"Did I give you permission to do that, Macca?"

"No."

"No, what?"

He whimpered at the tone in his master's.

"No, sir." He added softly.

Maximilian nodded, and he looked over at the screen briefly before turning his attention back to his editor.

He was very frail and thin from not being fed properly for five years, and his skin was an almost deathly pale color. His eyes wore large black rings around them, and he saw that he bit his cuticles a lot as well.

But then there were those eyes of his, a sharp shade of blue that could make any man or woman fall over themselves to do whatever Macca asked them to do. His eyes could be matched only by the golden color of his hair, a shade that would make any woman try her best to try and match it.

His face was also one to be envious of, his cheekbones high and almost alluring.

A wicked idea came to Maximilian, and he calmly put the remote down.

"Stand up." He ordered. "Now!"

Macca looked up at him, fearful that this was a trick to give Maximilian a reason to electrocute him again, but when the man reached for the remote, he got up, wincing as he put pressure on his bad ankle.

"I'll be right back. When I come back, you had better have your shirt off and still be standing. Understand?"

He had no idea what the madman was planning, but he nodded nevertheless, not wishing to be punished for not obeying the odd request.

He slowly began to undo the buttons of his shirt and he winced as it came off and he got a good look at his own body.

He had never been a big man when he was free, but he had had at least a lithe build with faint muscles.

Now…Now he could count his ribs by sliding a hand down his chest and his stomach was sunken in a bit.

"God…" he whispered and for the first time in a long time, his eyes started to water.

"Yes?"

He looked up as Maximilian came back into the room, and his eyes grew wide in disbelief.

The insane dictator had changed into nothing but a silk robe the color of the rainbow and he smiled at Macca wickedly as he walked over to him, snickering as the frail man whimpered and pressed his back up against the table, unable to run anywhere.

"What's the matter?" he asked, feigning concern as he walked up to him, resting a hand on his cheek lightly.

"Please…Don't…" Macca pleaded. He winced and cried out as his hair was suddenly grabbed and twisted, his head pulled forward so that he could feel Maximilian's breath on his neck.

"You're gay, right? All of you Hollywood types are gay aren't you?"

He started to sob, shaking his head uselessly as Maximilian started to trail kisses down his neck.

"Don't!" he begged.

Maximilian bit down on his collarbone sharply, and he yelped and flinched away from him.

"Shut up." he demanded, narrowing his eyes dangerously as he slowly sat down in Macca's chair, spreading his legs expectantly.

"I am the president for life of Everycountry! I own everything that walks on land and is in the very ocean itself! If I want a good fuck out of you then I will have it! Understand?"

Macca bowed his head in misery, and a soft moan escaped his lips.

"Come here."

He took a step forward and he shut his eyes tightly as cruel hands grabbed onto his sharp thighs, easily pulling down his pants without bothering to remove the belt.

When Maximilian took him, Macca arched his back and screamed in pain, throwing his head back as he closed his eyes to try and block it all out.

His neck and shoulders were being bitten into as if Maximilian were an animal and Macca vaguely wondered if he was going to die like this, impaled on the wicked man's cock.

When it was over, his ankle was starting to bleed through his sock, the blood dripping down from his sandal and to the ground.

Maximilian smiled at him, and he lightly tapped his side as he slid out of him and eased out of the chair, pushing Macca back into it.

"How was that?" he asked the sobbing man, and when he received no answer, he shrugged and calmly pulled the man's pants back up for him.

"I suppose I was wrong about you being gay then?" he asked, and was met with a tearful glare.

He giggled softly and shook his head, deciding to forgive Macca just this once for the glare.

Reaching into his robe pocket, he suddenly took out a peach, and he smiled as Macca stared at it with wide eyes.

"It's a treat for being a good little whore." Maximilian explained and when Macca snatched at it, he threw his head back and laughed.

"There will be more where that came from if you keep quiet and do what I tell you to do, understand?" he asked and as Macca stared at the peach he held clasped in his hands, he left him alone, laughing to himself.

For five years he had been fed a small food pellet whenever Maximilian felt like it, and without dwelling on the rape he had just suffered, Macca bit deeply into the offered fruit and moaned softly as the juices filled his mouth.

He paused before swallowing, and he wept anew, and he was soon eating and weeping at the same time.

Years ago he had been Macca; the editor of a few award winning films who had a bright future ahead of him and a woman who loved him.

Now, he was Macca; the imprisoned editor and whore for Maximilian.

The peach was sweet in his mouth, but it did little to help with the salty tears of sorrow falling down narrowed cheeks.