torture memory because honestly i dont want someone to stumble across this in a comment

[spelleton]

[ You can't tell where you are right now; for all you know, you could be in a cell, or in a basement, or in a room where everyone's watching you, or a balcony, or anything, anything, anything anywhere anywhere at all.

Your world is a kaleidoscope of pain, light and darkness rushing through incomprehensibly. Your own breath comes in spurts and gasps. You feel like you're dying, and you wish you would. ]

"Still won't speak? What a waste of time."

"Well, I wouldn't say a waste. There's still some things a warm body can be useful for."

[ You know better than to beg for mercy, even in the shattered mess you've become. So you weep instead, wasting your sparse breath on tears, because there's so little left to you that it doesn't matter, that nothing matters. You want to die. You want to die so badly that it hurts.

Something sharp is set against one side of your face. It stays there for a little while, scratching and scraping maddeningly, and you don't bleed from it, not even when it's rammed in and through because eyes don't have any blood in them

it doesn't change what you see at all and it's scratching and scraping the back of your skull, itching, you can feel it

You want to die so badly. ]

Comments

[spelleton]

[ The laugh that comes out is soft and bitter. ] Does anyone who gets subjected to that kind of pain truly have a choice? I wouldn't think so.

[ He sort of just sighs. This whole thing has thrown him off-balance.

While he wouldn't say it was an intimate memory, it's certainly a private one. It just raises questions and concerns; things he doesn't really want to answer. ]

I've never met anyone who did, at least. Perhaps it takes all sorts to make a world.

[opheliaafterdeath]

Some people are masochistic fucks who think the fastest way to summon shit is to carve themselves up. But who knows, really?

[They sound more bitter then usual. This - they hate this topic. It's not Ekkehardt's fault that it's come up, though. It's whatever that caused these memories to appear in the first place that's to blame.]

It's just bullshit in the end, no matter why. [They're...not quite talking about the memory they saw.] But I'm not going to play twenty questions with you on this.

[To be honest, Nekane would. He has no physical scars from what they saw, but it could be like them, hiding it away by covering his face up with a glamour and heavy clothing.

But they aren't going to. For as hungry for information Nekane was known to be, it seems this is a subject they don't want to delve into.]

[spelleton]

[ He shrugs, expression and tone impassive, with a hint of distance. The memories are vivid, yes, but they've been blunted by time and healing; the scars still exist, still ache, but they're no longer raw wounds like they once were. ]

If it satisfies your curiosity, I'd be happy to answer a few questions. You'll forgive me if I don't go into the details, however.

[ The smile he gives is thin and humourless. ] It's not very palatable, to put it lightly.

[opheliaafterdeath]

No.

[It is not unusual to hear Nekane snap at someone. Not surprising, since they always seem to be in a bad mood.

But. Their job as a detective tends to lead people on this sort of path. Seeing the worst that both humanity and supernatural were capable of. They've been alive for a long time. A nuke was overkill but not surprising. Murder, assault, sacrifice...it has become the normal for them.

Not torture. Never. And it makes them sick that some part of them would take Ekkehardt up on his offer just for the sake of knowing.

Nekane presses their hands against their eyes.]

I'm fine. Not knowing, I mean. I'm fine.

[They're not. They're really not.]