Thomas's expression dropped into one of slight disappointment, and he cast a glance towards their nearly destroyed prisoner. Thomas sighed. "I suppose you're right. We want to drag this out." He nodded a little. "Yes. Good call. Alright, then– I guess we ought to leave him in his cell for awhile. I have other duties to attend to. You– well, you can do whatever you like, I suppose. I have no other immediate assignments for you yet."
Day's tense shoulders relaxed slightly when they agreed to stop for now, though he looked far from relieved. It was hard to be relieved, really, when one was in such a condition. He was a mess of blood, sweat, and possibly tears– of tattered clothes and torn flesh.
Zanna tensed barely at Ward's disappointed face then relaxed again at hearing him agree. She gave Ward a nod and looked to Day assessing the damage she had done. His wounds could be ignored for a day, but probably not longer considering the amount of blood on him. She looked back to Ward, "Very well. Thank you, commander. Please let me know if anything pops up."
Thomas nodded. "I'll let you finish here. Considering his condition, I doubt you'll need my assistance. Take him back to his cell. Make sure the door is sealed so that he can't access this room. Someone will have to be sent to clean him up and feed him. We don't want him to die in his sleep. That's too peaceful." He smiled a bit. "I'll be seeing you later, Storm." The commander saluted her once before leaving the room, content with what they'd done.
Day had yet to move, really. He couldn't much, considering the severity of his pain and his restraints.
"Of course," Zanna gave a nod to Ward watching him leave. The first thing she did was coil up her whip and reattach it to her whip. She then went and began to release him from his binding to the pole. His hands were released first before his neck and she felt no danger in doing this. Absalom Day was no danger in reality. She couldn't stop herself as she whispered, that other half she had been suppressing bubbled up, "I'm sorry."
Day didn't even bother trying to hold himself up when she released his hands, letting his arms drop to his sides as he slumped forward a little more. "You're sorry?" He coughed out a forced, dry chuckle. "Mm. I'm sure you are." It was impossible to tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. He swallowed hard, letting out a long, shaky breath before glancing up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, deader than they had been earlier. "If you're sorry, shoot me in the head."
"That's how I wanted this to go from the start," Zanna muttered to herself well aware Day could hear her. She began to 'help' him back into the cell out from the torture room. She had never wanted the torture, a quick clean death. That was more her style, no moral dilemmas to deal with later in the day. Though she would torture anyone if need be, as long as they were. Orders. She shook her head subtly clearing her head from thoughts, "I don't have a gun, your people took the one I have on me."
"Well– then– go find one," Day growled, though the anger in his voice wasn't directed at her, really. No. It was just his response to the immense levels of pain– and stress– he was currently enduring. He grunted a few times as she got back into his cell, where he did nothing but collapse forward onto his pathetic excuse for a bed and lay there. Lying on his back wasn't an option. Not with his wounds. He drew in long breaths, exhaled slowly. His arm hung limply over the edge of the cot. "Your commander won't like it one bit, but go find a gun and put a bullet between my eyes. Tell him I decided to get violent. Tell him I threatened to sic the Reformers on you. I don't really care. Just shoot me." He blinked. "You want me dead, but no matter what your commander keeps saying, they're not gonna give me the death sentence. He knows that. If you want me dead, you'll have to do it yourself."
Frankly, he preferred death over his alternative.
“Trust me, if there was a plausible way for me to have a gun and shoot you I would,” lie, “But it’s too suspicious for me to leave your cell and then re-enter it. Even if your story were to make sense,” Zanna countered him her mind now tracking the lies and the truth. She hated, despised, loathed that she no longer wanted this man, this monster dead. No the softness in her was preventing that. She cuffed his hand, and only his hand, to the bed securing him to the room. Her eyes wandered to his bloodied back and the wounds she had inflicted. Her stomach churned again but she showed no physical reaction, “As Ward said someone will be by to clean you up. I’m taking my leave now. I’ll see you for round 2 tomorrow.” Please don’t die between now and then. Oh her soft heart really was getting to her, the rebelling half.
Day didn't seem happy with any part of her response. He wasn't happy that she refused to blow his brains out, he was annoyed that a bunch of people were coming to "clean him up" later, and he was exceptionally unenthusiastic about Round Two. He didn't look forward to any of their forms of torture. He was still bleeding from this one.
He let out a small Mmff, frowning a little. "Let's just hope that'll be the round that kills me."
“Hope all you want, it won’t be happening,” Zanna responded as she left the cell sealing the door behind her. She needed a workout, a shower, and the sleep. Preferably in that order. Her hand ran through her short black hair as her mind was deep in thought, war was a more appropriate word though. Today had been, today had been a day and now she had to deal with the aftermath.
(Hmm… You think a timeskip would be appropriate now, maybe? I'm loving this rp btw ^-^)
(This would probably be the best time and I’m enjoying it as well. :)
(Splendid!)
The next day would be eventful. By now, almost every soldier in the base had heard of the news: Zanna had single-handedly captured Absalom Day. Word got around, and the story became a tad exaggerated and twisted, to the point that some soldiers thoroughly believed that she had beat him hand to hand to the point that he cried and begged for mercy.
Of course that hadn't happened, but considering his current condition, maybe it didn't sound too ridiculous.
Any soldier that Zanna passed– especially the young ones– probably made sure to comment on how impressive it was that she had captured him and put him in his place. They were all so proud. So ecstatic.
Thomas had requested to meet her early in the day, promising that they would resume their interrogation and punishment of Day afterwards. Aside from a few specific soldiers tasked with monitoring Day's health, no one had been to see him since his beating. He probably preferred to be left alone, really.
Zanna was unaccustomed to the constant praise she was getting. She always gave them a nod and sometimes a thank you, but never showed how uncomfortable she felt. She had hardly been able to sleep that night as her heart and mind fought. At least that’s how she saw it. Which one was her mind and which one was her heart she wasn’t sure. She often thought of the softness as her heart though. Thankfully she had gone to the weapon holdings and been able to grab her gloves and a gun. She had gelt bare without them. A few minutes before Ward had requested Zanna was when she had entered the cell. She walked under the pretense of wanting to get an early start though even that was false. She just wanted to see the man that was the start of her inner turmoil.
"Storm," Thomas greeted coolly when the two finally met. "I've spoken to my superiors concerning Day's interrogation. They're happy with our results thus far, and they like the idea of slowly breaking him apart bit by bit." He paused. "They're worried about what we'll do with him, though. They're concerned that a death sentence might actually make him a matyr and cause the Reformers to retaliate. Tgey want your opinion on what we should do with him. You don't have to answer yet. We'll give you time to consider any suggestions you may have. But it's about time to give him another visit." A cruel smile tugged at his mouth. "Are you ready to get back to it?"
Zanna forced her lips to mirror his cruel smile though it appeared to be natural. A lifetime of torture? She had known it was a possibility, as had Day, but she had hoped they weren't going down that route. Though she had been given the power of his fate, that was something she hadn't been expecting. She gave a nod to Ward, "Commander, I will think about what to do. Though I can't wait to get back at it, I'm thinking we try something different today. So we don't get him into a routine."
"I like that thought. He'll be more uncomfortable if he doesn't know what to expect every time. You're good at this; I wonder if that's another reason the superiors thought it would be wise to assign this to you." Thomas started in the direction of Day's prison cell, talking as he walked. "What do you have in mind for our next method? We've got plenty of options."
"I'm sure there was a reason," Zanna responded recalling all the other times she had been called off of the field to be in charge of extracting information. Day's atrocities may be a rumor amongst the soldiers, Storm's work should have been a rumor amongst the Reformers. At least, if any of her victims ever lived, or if anyone actually knew of the extra work she did. She stepped in and made her way over to where Day was, looking at least somewhat better than yesterday, "I haven't thought of that yet, whatever strikes the mood I suppose."
Apparently someone did come to clean Day up during the night, because all of the nasty dried blood that had been all over his face had been cleaned off, leaving nothing but a red mark on his brow to show there had been an injury to his face. He was wearing fresh clothing, too– er, well, fresh pants. Long, plain black cargo pants. He was barefoot (though one leg was cybernetic, so it could hardly be considered "barefoot") and shirtless– the latter probably by choice, considering that his back was far too raw for him to handle the fabric of a shirt touching his torn back. Without a shirt, he had even more obvious scars on his arms, chest, and what parts of his back that weren't currently destroyed.
He sat on the edge of the cot that he was still chained to. His glare implied that he was not pleased to see them, though the lower half of his face was still concealed by his muzzle.
"They took my boots," Day complained numbly, looking down at his feet as Zanna entered.
"You poor baby," Zanna responded in a mocking tone but with the tiniest. Just tiniest hint of sincerity. Her eyes looked over his wounded and scared torso trying to decipher what had happened to cause so many wounds. The war most likely, she had multiple scars like that as well. She leaned over and unchained him from the bed before hoisting him to his feet keeping him close to her, "Deal with it."
Day didn't respond, except for grunting lightly as she pulled him to his feet. Whether he was grunting due to his soreness or because he was unhappy about the idea of the aforementioned round two was unclear, but either way, he wasn't pleased. "Came to finish me off, did you? I'd like to have some roses at my funeral, if you don't mind. Blue, not red. Red roses are too cliche." He sounded like he was being sarcastic, but with Day, it was hard to tell.
Thomas ignored him altogether and went to open the door to the torture room.
"Just for that it'll be red roses, if you even get a funeral," Zanna responded dragging him into the torture room. She looked around trying to decide what to use on him today. Eventually deciding to drag him over to the chair strapping down his legs, arms, and neck. This was what she had decided on, whatever it was.
"Dang it. I hate red roses," Day muttered, though he probably couldn't care less. He looked mildly confused at first, and then winced as he sat back in the chair– because anything touching his back brought him a great deal of discomfort. "Oh, so we're doing something different today, then." He didn't sound remotely enthusiastic. Actually, he sounded pretty miserable, like he'd be happier if he just had a heart attack right then and there. He didn't know what they planned to do to him, and that probably made him a little bit concerned. He didn't like not knowing.
Thomas opened up the wall like he did last time– the one where a plethora of torture tools waited to be used– though he didn't know if Zanna would need them. "I'm eager to watch him squirm," he commented darkly. "I don't even know where to start, honestly."
Zanna could tell he wasn't happy at the moment. She was very careful as made her way over to the wall of tools. She looked up at around the wall trying to decide what to use. Her eyes wandered down to her gloves and she walked back over to him setting her gloves to a low voltage. Enough to just be mildly discomforting but not cause any permanent damage. She reached down and grabbed his arm her gloves sparking just slightly as electricity went from them into Day, "Any other comments captain obvious?"
Day twitched a little as she sent the volts through him, his hands clenching into fists. His eyes grew wide, pupils shrinking, similar to the way they had done back in his base, when she first cracked the whip in his general direction. Even when the electricity stopped and his hands relaxed, hanging limply from the arms of the chair where his wrists were restrained, his hands involuntarily shook. Curse his body's reaction to electrical shock. It had hurt, but he wouldn't have described it as agonizing. Undesirable? Yes. Terrifying and unbearable? Not quite. But considering how much they hated him, he wasn't sure how long he had before the situation did escalate into one he would not be a fan of.
He let a long huff out through his nose; if he had blown any harder, it could've been considered a snort.
