Chapter Text
22.June 2018 – Urzikstan/ somewhere near the Georgian border
„Why don’t you smile for the camera pretty boy? Come on. Do it for your audience!”
One of the men adjusted the beat down desk lamp a little so that the face of their playtoy was better to see. “Awww. Don’t be shy. Come on!”
The man in the spotlight tried to show no fear, no pain, no reaction. His hands, legs and head were tied to the chair. He couldn’t even turn his head away. Looking blankly in the camera was the only thing he could do. Whatever was left of his pride forbade him to lower his gaze.
Staring at his tiny reflection in the camera lens, he hardly recognized himself. Eyes swollen, his left eyebrow busted, the shirt long gone and his chest littered with cuts and bruises.
He was slowly losing hope and was doing everything he could to let his thoughts remain somewhat positive or at least sane.
Shut down, breathe, meditate, breathe, positive thoughts, breathe.
He thought of his sister, happy and safe at home with her two adorable daughters and her stupid husband.
Shit. I missed Emma's first birthday... I wonder if Bell is mad at me… His sister could get quite scary when she was upset.
He remembered the time his brother Marcus accidentally cursed in front of Clara. The then 2-year-old had been running around the house shouting "fuck" all day and Bell had lost it. Each of the three brothers would rather enter an active war zone than face the wrath of their sister.
Which he had actually done... that's how he ended up in this shithole. But how did that actually happened?
He was a pretty young Corporal with 24 years, climbing the ranks quite fast, due to his outstanding talent and strong sense of duty. Some jealous individuals claimed that it was solely due to his father's high position in the SAS. But anyone who saw him in action could see the young man's potential.
It was supposed to be a simple mission: gain access to the building and eliminate the target. Boom easy peasy.
Till it wasn’t.
They got ambushed, the reinforcement was cut off and they didn’t stand a chance. 3 Soldiers of his section were shot instantly, the remaining 4 plus himself got captured.
After an interrogation, which did not achieve any results, they deemed the 4 privates as irrelevant. But it was a completely different story for himself. As the son of a higher up in the British Special Forces, he became a valuable asset for his captors. A little cash cow for their greedy asses. Or so they thought.
They made a video for ransom and sent it to the SAS. Apart from a few punches, they held back. After getting no answer, they made a second one. This time they opted for hard blows and cuts.
After not getting an answer again, they got really pissed off. Their precious asset didn't seem to be as valuable as they thought if he wasn't even worth an answer. So they tried one last time.
And here they were.
Small tremors passed over his skin due to the constant flow of adrenaline through his veins. His arm broken, both his hands punctured with nails “Just like your Savior!” and his lungs hurting after getting waterboarded for god knows how long (Time is an illusion when you are locked in a dark cell, get food irregularly, if at all, and get hosed down every now and then because you stink like something indescribable).
A hard slap brought him back to the present.
“Didn't your мама teach you manners? You don’t wanna smile for us? No problem,” one of his captors grinned at him ferociously. He pulled out a knife and let it swing back and forth in front of the beat down soldier, who kept staring straight ahead. He moved behind the chair and brought the knife to the chained-up man’s face. “I can make you smile,” he said, grabbed the man’s cheeks, forced his mouth open and started cutting.
Even though his body was exhausted, weak and bound to immobility, he writhed, thrashed, tried to get away. The logical part of his brain, far away and almost non-existent due to the overwhelming pain, tried to remind him not to scream.
He tried clenching his teeth, tears streaming down his face and his hands torn open due to his struggling. His mouth filled with blood, his breath came through his nose in short ragged puffs, and the urge to throw up grew stronger as agony filled all his senses as the knife cut deeper and deeper, stopped and started again.
His vision darkened with every millimeter of sliced skin and he welcomed the darkness that would hopefully release him from his suffering.
Then the cutting stopped.
“What a tough little soldier you are,” his tormentor took a step to the side to get a better view of his handiwork. “What? Now you don't wanna look at the camera? Show your daddy your new pretty smile”.
His thrashing around had loosened the restraints and his head had fallen to the side. Blood was pouring from the corner of his mouth.
A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. Blurry eyes found the lens of the camera without really seeing anything.
"Last chance to get your little boy back". He let go of the soldier’s hair. “Bring him back to his cell. If there is no reaction, dump him. We have wasted our time long enough. Вперед!” He was grabbed by four hands and hauled back to his cell.
The ransom has never been paid.