I tried to work on my other stories, I really did. But I felt like another one shot and it grew into... this. Ha ha. I hope you like it and reveiw. If you don't like it I would love for you to tell me why. I had a really long prologue and I didn't have time to copy it all down so I will have the next part up really soon.
I love reveiws...
Disclaimer: I do not own. Simple and to the point.
Oh and another disclaimer: I am not English. So if I sound too... well... American, please feel free to slap me over the head with a pan. Other than that, enjoy.
They called him the Englishman. They would taunt him with it, while they beat his already bruised and battered body. They hissed it in his ear while he let himself pass out. They yelled it at him to get his attention. They had called him that so many times that he almost forgot his own name.
Some nights he did forget his own name. He would lie on his cot, repeating his name over and over. But in the end he would fall asleep, "The Englishman" on his lips.
Torture is a delicate art. Push a subject and their mental stability too hard, and you might push them to insanity. Be too light on a person and you'll never get anything out of them. One-Eye lived by these rules.
He was one of the best torturers in the world. He was known for his… unusual… methods. One-eye didn't have another name, and he didn't care. He only lived to cause others pain with his new inventions.
One-eye had lost his eye when he had been tortured by the triads.
One-eye was old. But he was still fit enough, and cruel enough to break a man and that was his employers wanted. He also had a keen sense of when a person would be pushed past their limit of comfort and "break", as they called it in the business. Today would be a day when he would break The Englishman. After more than six months, his hard work would pay off.
The Englishman had once been a spy. He had been phenomenal at his job. Word was spread that the Devil himself couldn't catch him. But that was before Veritas had gotten to him.
There are many criminal organizations in this world, big and small. Al-Qaeda, The Colombian Drug Cartels, The Mamak Gang, SCORPIA, Dignity and Honor, the Mafias, and the many gangs that roam the world. But with the fall of SCORPIA, there was one group that had risen as one of the most dangerous. Veritas.
It is Latin for truth. An American name Robert D. Geer had founded it in the late 80's. He had been so sickened by the over-indulgence of and the ignorance of his once great country. So he decided to show the world the truth.
The truth? The truth is the world is an ugly place for the lucky and even more disgusting and scary for the unlucky. But if you paid enough… you might just get a glimpse into what "blessed" looks like.
It might have stayed a small gang, if not for the fact Robert was rich and knew how to get in touch with people. Soon it was a monopoly of power around the world, second best only to SCORPIA. But a boy named Alex Rider had taken care of them.
Veritas owed the boy a debt of gratitude. Once they repaid it, they would kill him.
One-eye had prided himself in breaking a fully trained mercenary in a matter of days. But the Englishman was different. It had taken the man months. Months! This agent had successfully steeled his mind, impressing even One-eye. No mortal man was that good.
But yet he took his punishment and beatings like one would handle a fly buzzing in one's ear once in a long while. He ignored them. No, he did curl up into a ball with the pain, and sobbing like a small girl had become common place for them. But The Englishman still refused to talk.
But today would be the day he would break.
One-eye's hand curled over the handle of his newest invention and his eyes scanned the familiar room. It was made of concrete, a dim, naked bulb hanging overhead. A metal chair was overturned in a corner and blood stains covered the floor. It looked like something out of a bad movie. It pleased the torturer.
The Englishman was dragged into the room. He had been given two weeks to recover from his latest injuries after the man had almost died. Normally, they would have gotten rid of him months ago, but One-eye loved this plaything. It was a challenge, and he had not had discovered one in such a long time.
So he smiled, a nasty smile (his teeth were disgusting) and raised his weapon. One-eye had made it himself. It was based off a medieval mace. But it did not have one huge spiked ball at the end of the chain. There were about five smaller balls, instead of the one. And the tips were charged with an electric shock, similar to a Taser. It even had a gripped handle!
One-eye felt like giggling. It would tear The Englishman's back open as it sent painful electric shocks through his cuts. It would be extremely painful.
Soon enough, The Englishman was screaming and sobbing at the same time, his back raw, bleeding and on fire.
"Stop!" He cried.
One-eye grinned. It was the first time the man had asked for him to stop. A man could only take so much physical pain, and even if it takes a while, they all break.
The Englishman continued, "I-I just took her to the top… she wanted a puppy…or a mannequin!"
One-eye stared at the man in growing horror. No…
The Englishman had come free of his bonds and he was writhing on the floor. Complete gibberish streamed out of his mouth. "Red hair… Brown eyes… looks just like his pappy… Oh, ho! What a wonderful time of the year!
The man had begun to sing! One-eye's fear had come true and it was slowly replaced by disgust as he man continued muttering. This man had not broken, he had cracked. The torturer spit to the side. All his hard work had been wasted.
The Englishman was now insane. He had kept in his information for too long. He had resisted too much. He had gone through too much unimaginable pain. It was too much for his mind to bear. It would have been better for him to have broken when he had the chance.
One-eye's grudging respect for the man was gone. There was no more need for him.
The Englishman was still raving. "Smart little fellow…. Like a bug… Ha ha…Gray man… Peppermints!"
One-eye knocked the man over the head. The Englishman fell limp and guards rushed in to take him back to his cell for the night. They would kill him in the morning.
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It kind of jumps all over the place, sorry about that. It's late and I'm tired...