The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 25: Forced

A/N: Alright. This chapter is not meant to be sexy. It's supposed to be humiliating. DO NOT READ if forced sex is triggering. That is all.

I was there for an eternity. Not even eternity. Eternity plus infinity. I felt like a different person. I was crazy, definitely crazy. Getting there, at least.

In reality I'd only been there for a few weeks. But lack of stimulation makes one's brain turn to mush.

My arm was totally healed. They even made me fight and exercise again.

I killed so many of them. So much blood. The dungeons stank of it, smelled like iron and sickness. The harder the fight, though, the more nails I broke. I even broke quite a few fingers, but they got better in couple days, sometimes less. I was getting stronger, I could feel it in my thickening bones and oxygen-crazy muscles. I knew my hearing and smell was improving because I could the heart beats of others when they entered the room, their breathing and every scratch, tap, and shift. I could smell the sweat and skin of people. It was unsettling. I grew to love the peace of solitude.

They were attentive when it came to me, though. They checked up on me four times a day, fed me three times a day, and even changed my paper gown when it got bloody and stained with my sweat. To my surprise, the food was pretty good.

They started up the dream dome again. Oh, they were horrible. Blood-smeared hazes where the faces of my loved ones pointed guns at my face, broke my bones. Faces filled with such hate. And it felt so real! Compared to the foggy film that covered my normal dreams, these were just so vivid. No fog, and I could smell, hear, and even taste. I could taste metal of the barrel of the gun that was shoved in my mouth, chipping my tooth. Could hear my own heavy breathing, smell my own blood.

It was the worst part of my stay at Hotel Hell.

I was drained. My spirit spiraled like dirty dishwater down the sink. My fire died.

Eventually, I wouldn't even fight when they threw me in a dungeon. It became so mechanical, killing, by then it was nothing. I felt nothing not even the usual guilty pleasure.

Time seemed to freeze by redundancy. Then its icy spell broke.

One day, the usually opaque, white wall to my left turned transparent and revealed a familiar face. Pete. He lay in a bed strapped identical to how I was, a thousand wires coming in and out of him.

Would I scream, cry, or thrash? All three? Truth was, I just stared. Was it an apparition? Another trick of the dream dome?

I didn't know if I was ecstatic or terrified of this. I finally had a familiar face, a companion! My broken heart ached at the possibility of healing.

But he was here. In this hell hole. And only God knew what they wanted from him. Probably wanted to slit his throat in front of my face.

"Pete!" I screamed. It came over my vocal cords like gravel on sandpaper. "Pete!"

Pete swiftly turned toward me, and I visibly heard a heartstring snap. His face had been marred with acid, discolored and twisted. They reached all the way down his neck and naked chest. Oh, Pete.

His eyes were the same. I took an iota of comfort in that. They were still burning and desperate, searching the room for an explanation. "Hello?" he yelled, frantically searching the room for my voice. It was a one-way wall. I cursed. Of course.

"Banner! It's Banner!" I yelled. I looked at my cuffs and I felt the same desperation I did my first hour there. "Let me out!" I screamed, thrashing so hard I was sure I cracked my radius. "Let me out!" Immediately a bunch of white coats came in, lead by my favorite snaggle-toothed bastard. Felt.