Day scowled. "I'll eat as slow as I want," he snapped, shoving a forkful of whatever-the-heck-they-were-feeding-him into his mouth.
Again, Thomas paid Day no mind. "Yes, we shall. And I think we need to remind him why it's a bad idea to resist our soldiers when he's in our captivity."
"Yes," Zanna responded feeling her stomach churn at the idea of hurting him that badly. After all, that's what Ward was implying, "I suppose we should teach him a lesson. And Day, eat your food."
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Day growled through a mouthful, jabbing his fork back into the food. He didn't seem remotely moved by Ward's subtle threats, but then again, Day usually didn't show a lot of fear. Unless whips were involved. Even so, there was a chance that was all an act, too. The problem with Day was that he was so bizarre in his behavior, one had to really wonder how much of him was real and how much was fabricated.
Ward merely nodded, casting a glance at Day– who only glowered in response. "What do you think would be appropriate this time, Storm? What's brutal enough to put him back in his place?"
Zanna thought for a moment. She didn't want to suggest it, but it was probably the best option for punishment. Her hand rested on top of her whip thought she knew there were more interesting and painful whips in the torture room, "I'm thinking we hook him to the pole again. Maybe use a three-strike whip on him."
Day froze mid-chew, his gaze flickering back and forth between both of them. Now, whether or not he was acting now at this point was debatable. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. But his eyes did widen slightly, and his glare disappeared altogether. If he was acting, then he was doing a bang-up job, because he looked shook.
Thomas's reaction was much different. A dark grin slowly spread across his face. "I like the way you think."
Zanna could feel her stomach twist with Ward's reaction, but she kept up her act well. She saw Day's reaction to her suggestion and could tell he wasn't really acting. He was scared. She wasn't going to back away and if anything she couldn't do that. Her grin looked natural even though she had to force it onto her face, "Then that's what we'll do. Finish up Day. We haven't got all day."
"I'm done," Day said dryly, dropping the tray onto the bed beside him. It wasn't even out of stubbornness this time so much as it was the fact that he had experience with three-strike whips, so he knew good and well that they usually caused the afflicted so much pain that they vomit. He wasn't going to waste his time eating if there was a good chance he would lose it all anyways.
"I'll go get everything ready," Thomas commented, nonchalantly opening the door to the torture room and disappearing inside.
Zanna watched as Ward left into the torture room. She was careful as she moved to undo the chain so she could take him into the other room. Her face dropped the moment Ward left and only Day could see her face. She whispered to Day as she undid the chain, "I'm sorry for what's coming. I'll bring you more food afterward okay?"
Day scowled again. "You're sorry?" he whispered through gritted teeth, trying to be quiet so as to not be overheard. "Then why the crap would you suggest–" He interrupted himself with a huff, his fear– as usual– shown through aggravation. "You know, you're really not helping my growing desire to commit suicide in here," he murmured. "Whatever. It's fine. Let's just– get this over with."
"Because Ward would have suggested it eventually," Zanna whispered back at him. Her words were rushed. but understandable, "Besides this should be faster than if I had just suggested a regular whip. so think of it like I'm doing you a favor. You can handle it, I know you can. I wouldn't have suggested if I didn't think you could." She began dragging him to the torture room where Ward was setting up. She dragged him over to the pole and attached his hands back up above his head before attaching the chain on his neck.
Day didn't respond, merely huffed and grumbled to himself as she tugged him along to the last place he wanted to be. She did have to drag him– almost quite literally– considering his lack of a leg. He had to resist the urge to… well, resist, and the only reason he didn't was because he was unwilling to let the commander– who Day was growing to loathe passionately– see the depths of his reluctance. While Zanna bound him to the pole, he glared at the ground, refusing to look either her or the commander in the eye.
Thomas had already gotten the three-strike whip out and was preparing it so that Zanna could wield it. The main difference in three-strike whips and other whips was that three-strikes were enhanced with technology that, upon impact with the victim's body, actually possessed the capability to interfere with the victim's nerves and senses– therefore altering the amount of pain felt to that of extreme levels– as well as making said-pain last longer. Not to mention, they were made of extra-rough cords that tore deep into the flesh of whoever was unfortunate enough to be at the other end of the whip, even more brutally than that of a regular whip. The three-strike whip was technically illegal to be owned by anyone who wasn't government sanctioned, because they were more than capable of putting those with weaker wills into shock with only a few lashes.
"Are you ready, Storm?" Thomas asked, looking over the long whip once more before glancing towards her.
"Yes," Zanna took the whip from Ward. Her stomach was already churning with guilt from the actions she was about to take. She weighed the whip in her hand knowing well that Day was going to hate her after this. All of this to prove something she didn't need to prove, but it would help in the long run. Zanna knew that much. She let the whip hit the ground giving Day a slight warning before she cracked the whip letting all three ends lash out across his back. She would take it slow, let every lash sink into him in some sick hope that it would make it hurt less.
Before the first lash even hit him, Day dropped his head– more than likely to prevent either of them from seeing his expression or reaction to the blow. He didn't want the commander to have the pleasure.
And the blow was as bad as expected.
Even though Day had encountered– and felt– three-strike whips before in his life, that didn't make the blow any less severe this time. It didn't make the pain any less shocking.
A scream ripped from his throat, though he cut himself off mid-cry, trying his darndest to suppress it. The anguish from the single strike was enough to make him feel like every bit of strength had left his body, and sank down onto the ground as much as he could, panting for breath. How on earth was he already sweating so hard? This was only the first lash.
Thomas looked unmoved. "They say most people last three lashes before they beg for mercy. Let's see how long Day can last before he begs."
Day lifted his gaze just enough to glare at Thomas, seething with hatred. "I will never beg."
"We'll see."
Zanna kept her expression hardened. Day had actually screamed from only one strike. This was such a mistake. She had made such a poor decision, but she had to keep going. She let out a quiet breath before lashing the whip at Day again letting it strike his back drawing more blood. She was taking her time in the act of breaking him down slowly, more like trying to preserve his sanity. He was already falling from one strike where when they had used the whip it had taken multiple to get him to this point.
Day griitted his teeth for the next blow to hold back his scream, but it was pointless, and he yelped anyway– an act he would've internally scolded himself for had not the pain been so intense as to cloud his thoughts. He'd never seen anyone who didn't voice their anguish when being beaten with a three-strike, but that didn't make him feel any better about it. As far as he was concerned, that was a show of weakness on his part– and therefore unacceptable. Involuntary tears stang at his eyes– curse his body's natural response to pain– and he did his best to blink them back, dry them up, and prevent them from escaping down his face. At least his head was dropped so that they couldn't see that part, anyway.
Thomas continued to observe, apparently unmoved as he watched Day's flesh– which was, for the record, still terribly raw from his last beating– tear and slice and rip with each blow, blood flowing freely from his wounds and onto the concrete. "How many do you think he'll take before he pleads?" Thomas asked casually. "I vote five."
"I– will never– beg," Day hissed through gritted teeth, though you could hear the anguish in his voice already.
"I don't know," Zanna responded watching Day feeling the guilt continue to build inside her. She looked at his back and noted how he didn't scream this time. He still yelped, but he didn't scream. Probably because he was holding it back. She let the whip lash out again striking at Day's back, "I'm thinking seven. He's doing well despite everything."
"Yes, he is," Thomas muttered, watching Day flinch and yelp at the next strike, too. "Maybe a little too well. I want to see him break."
Day writhed, growling, though he said nothing. He was sweating profusely, bleeding as well, and those one or two of those tears he'd fought so valiantly escaped– though, thankfully, neither Ward nor Zanna could see his face, and if they had, his tears would've been masked by the sheer amount of perspiration he was soaked with.
"He will soon enough, though," Thomas added calmly.
As far as he was concerned, no one could withstand the three-strike whip.
Not even Absalom Day.
Zanna watched him carefully. He was soaked in sweat and blood the two mixing to make a strange coloration of liquid. She made no response to Ward's comments knowing full well that Day would break eventually. Even though she hoped it wouldn't happen. She lashed the whip out again hitting him once and then deciding to strike him a second time to see if she could get Ward satisfied faster.
Day's back arched in pain, and he choked, panting desperately for breath at this point, his heart thudding wildly. He hoped he would go into shock and die. At least then it would be over. But he didn't, and he wouldn't– though, even still, he promised himself he would not beg. Not here. Not now. They didn't deserve the pleasure.
"That's five," Thomas announced calmly, smirking a bit at Day's suffering. "Ready to give in yet? I'll make you a deal, Day. You plead for mercy, and we'll show it."
Day grunted in pain, mustering the strength to growl out, "No. Kill me. Dare you."
Thomas snorted. "There's a fine line between being tough and being stupid. I think you're more the latter."
Zanna personally thought he aired on the wave of tough stupidity. She really hoped Day would forgive her after all of this. She flicked the whip clean of blood letting it crack throughout the room. He wasn't going to ask for Mercy and Ward didn't expect her to show it. She lifted the whip and cracked it along his back once more. She stayed silent throughout the entire thing.
There was no doubt that Day was having a hard time. He let out something between a grunt and growl– probably the only sound he actually had the strength to make at this point. The only thing that prevented him from collapsing to the floor altogether was his restraints, which kept him partially upright whether he desired to be or not. He continued to pant, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.
"Oh, you're just a mess, aren't you?" Thomas commented with mock sympathy as he walked over to Day. "If only you could see yourself now. The great Absalom Day." Thomas grabbed Day's hair and tugged his head up just enough so that he was forced to look the commander in the eye. "Not so great anymore, hm?" The commander smirked darkly, crouching closer to Day– unafraid, because the prisoner was altogether harmless in this state. "Clearly, you're in a lot of pain. We'll stop if you'll beg for it. I swear we will. You just have to plead."
If looks could kill, Thomas would be a mass of torn and bloodied flesh, slaughtered like an animal. But, since they could not, Day's glare caused Thomas no physical harm. "Never," Day grunted through gritted teeth.
Zanna watched as Ward walked up to Day. She was skilled with a whip, but she could easily excuse an accident. After all, they were in close proximity. She could see Day's glare the way he wanted to rip Ward apart. So she decided that she might actually try it. Being very careful in the way she recklessly lashed out the whip striking Day across the back but also managing to strike Ward's side with the aftermath of the strike. She pretended to look in shock as she spoke with genuine concern towards Day, ward, "I'm so sorry. It was a complete accident commander."
It immediately became apparent that Thomas was not as good at handling his pain as Day was. He released Day and cursed loudly, leaping backwards as quickly as you'd expect someone to had they just been lit on fire. He clutched at his injured side, gulping down a few quick breaths. It was questionable as to whether or not he himself had ever been on that end of a three-strike whip– and whether he had or not, he clearly didn't have a high pain tolerance to it– and he hadn't even taken the blunt of the blow.
Meanwhile, Day had let his head drop once again, but even through his own pain, he found the strength to smirk just a bit at the commander's reaction.
Thomas managed to calm himself down and attempted to clear his throat, though he looked almost as shaken from that one blow as Day did now– albeit less bloody and weak. "Careful, Storm. That's no toy," he said harshly. He glanced down at his side, daring to remove his hand from the wound, wincing. "I'll let you finish up here. I have other things to attend to." With that, he headed through the door.
"My apologies," Zanna responded her tone and body completely sincere. It was definitely an accident, not a reason to pack up early. She watched as Ward left the door before she cracked the whip clean of blood and put it back on the wall. She made her way over to where Day was practically hanging from the pole and began undoing the chains. Her every action was careful as to not cause more pain to Day than she already had, "You held up well."
"Relatively," Day grumbled, unable to hold himself up even once she had undone the chains. A couple seconds passed before he let out a snort of anger. "Why on Earth would you suggest a three-strike? Of all things–" He might've raged longer if he hadn't been in so much agony, but he cut himself short, reduced to growling and grumbling to himself about it. "I don't understand why you don't just shoot me already."