Refuge of the Alpha

With a forceful splash of water on the face, the victim was finally awake. He gasped for air as the cold water seemed to have shrunk his lungs. He tried to stand up but was reminded of his misfortune by the glimmering shackles that held him on the metal chair. As soon as he remembered, he concluded his futile attempt at breaking free. The dark room taunted him along with the silhouettes that stood in front of him. A part of him wanted to dare them to cut him loose and fight him like real men but the more sober part of him enlightened him of the dangers and consequences of such approach. There was no sound in the dark room other than his own panting. There was no light in the room other than the yellow bulb hanging a foot above his head. He felt drained beyond replenishment. His hands were bound behind his back, tight enough to mess with the blood circulation. His senses started to return with every passing second. His entire body started to ache miserably. He felt his lip and found it twice its original size. He soon realized that the little visual that was available in the room, he was catching it with one eye. His other eye was swollen shut. He was wondering why his torturers were giving him the moment to catch his breath when a small door opened behind him. He could see the light falling in front of him from behind him. For a brief moment he could see his shadow showing his balding head on the ground. Loud footsteps begun from behind him and stopped in front of him yet the source still remained invisible. A wooden chair abruptly dropped in front of him causing a lot of noise as it bounced under the small circle of light. Soon, the person whose arrival had suspended the victim’s torture, sat on the wooden furniture. The aura of the man screamed of his superiority and so did the silence of the brutal men on his arrival. The pinstriped white tuxedo along with a matching cowboy hat struck fear in the hearts and that log of a cigar enhanced his stern outlook. The long scar on his pale cheek leading up to the gray glass eye signified that the man wasn’t messing around. He stood six feet tall and wore a white beard with moustaches longer than the beard and a mullet barely escaped his hat. The victim didn’t seem to recognize the man as he squinted to scan his face. The man under the cowboy hat just examined the panting subject in front of him as if to read something apparent while subtly venting out smoke through his nose like a dragon. Time passed slowly as he maintained eye contact with the bound one. The visitor waited for the bound man to recognize him before he spoke the first words. The conversation would have better results if both the parties knew who they were talking to, he thought. The emotions suddenly altered on the victim’s face, giving away the hint that the recognition had been made. “Hudson!”, he exclaimed with his eyes wide open despite the pain it inflicted. Hudson motioned a “Tada!” with a grin and now he was ready to speak with his subject.

“Why endure the avoidable?”, the man asked in a coarse and heavy voice. His tone attempted to sound pleading but couldn’t mask the hint that the man wasn’t accustomed to asking for what he wanted. The bound man grunted and looked away as he understood what the man with the cowboy hat had meant.

“You can’t break me, you pale piece of shit!”, was the bound man’s response, which was infuriating to the torturer to say the least. The victim’s face showed the signs of anger and disgust. He struggled to break free but his muscles failed him. The pale man smirked. The desperation seemed to give him satisfaction.

“We know your strengths!”, the tux wearing man blurted with a grunt as he stood up and slowly walked behind the metal chair. “And your weaknesses”, the smoker continued as he emerged in front of the victim wearing a pair of silver knuckles. The man threw professionally aimed punches at the face of the bound man. Each blow was like being hit by train to the victim. The body rebounded forward after each strike adding to the power of the next one. The room was filled with thuds and bangs of the landing blows. Blood started to ooze out after a few meaty punches and by the time he was done, the blood dripped like a tap. The torturer motioned to one of his henchmen and he grabbed a handful of crushed ice. He put it on the wound and placed a duct tape over it. The bleeding stopped. Similar measure had been utilized for days to keep him alive until his need ended for his torturers. The victim kept groaning for a minute. The pain eventually numbed down.

“Your master? Hal-eck? Where is he?”, Hudson spoke as he stepped back in front of him. He wiped his hand with a napkin as he walked. He took back his seat and let out a grunt as he lowered himself to sit. He examined the victim for any signs of breaking. There were none.

“Fuck you!”, the victim blurted with disgust and spat on the torturer’s face. “Even if I did, I would rather die before telling you!”, the victim added. The torturer was disappointed. He stood up and used the same napkin to wipe away the spit from his face. He walked into the darkness.

“You welcome death? I would have admired it but a lot of people say that with such a conviction but when it comes to greet them, they start with their futile prayers and struggles”, the voice spoke from the dark. The victim struggled to find a glimpse of the torturer but failed. He could hear rustling of plastic bags. “The feud of our people has stood for millenniums and will remain for even more so. But the beliefs of the individuals often seem to differ”, the voice spoke on.

“Am I so wrong to want that monster dead?”, the torturer asked from the darkness.

“What you are doing to me, what do you think that makes you?”, the victim replied in a struggling whisper, barely making the sound.

The rustling stopped for a moment. “You know, the man for whom you have endured so much for, won’t think twice before selling you out”, said the voice in the darkness. A wide smirk appeared on the face of the victim, telling the torturer that he was mistaken about the man he was after.

“The world is overburdened with men that are desperate to live on with their sorry lives, but there are a few like you who are so restless to die”, Hudson spoke from the darkness, his coarse voice making every word more and more ominous. The victim winced in pain and tried to catch a glimpse of him but in vain. “But then there are men like me who find out who belongs in which basket”, the voice in the dark continued. He emerged into the view wearing a translucent plastic layer over his expensive suit. The hat had been ditched. A metal bat shone under the sole light in the room. He wound it back and swung it in air, making ominous swishing sounds. The bound man was terrified by the look of indifference and disappointment on the face of the aggressor. He threw a few swings in the air to limber up.

“If you kill me, my people will hunt you down”, the victim barely managed to say. His senses were failing him. The torturer warmed up and walked until he was a meter away from his prey. He bent down and held the prey’s head up with his chin.

“The angel won’t pay the visit. I’ll only make you wish he does”, he whispered and stepped back to wind for a swing.