Chapter 3- No More Light

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Zoey's POV

I don't remember the last time I saw the sun.

My skin is pale, my hair is lank, my body is thin.

I have blood caked onto most of my body, with a large amount dried on my face, crusting around my right eye.

I know that if I ever get out of this alive, I'll be scarred, physically as well as mentally.

I never knew how much I loved sunlight, but it truly is a magical thing.

But there are no more rays in my life.

There's no more light, just the dark.

My eyes blink open weakly as a noise awakens me.

I'm strapped into a chair, having passed out on the floor. I don't know how long I've been gone, because there's no way to tell whether it's day or night.

But I've lost count of the hundreds of hours I've spent in this Hell.

He enters the room, with the man of my nightmares following behind.

They make the devil himself sound lovely, but I'd never say anything like that to them.

I'd never say anything.

"You're dying, Miss Redbird." The Archer points out to me, amusement in his words. "And yet you still won't say anything."

I raise my gaze, past his sleek suit and polished shoes, up to his face.

Hints of wrinkles show around his mouth and eyes, his irises grey and absent of any warmth.

I flick my gaze to the man behind him, the one I see so frequently.

He has brown hair down past his ears, and his eyes are smudged with black dirt or soot, or perhaps its the colour of his skin after going through hell and back himself.

He always wears rags of clothing, fastened together for easier moving abilities, and various weapons are strapped to his legs, as well as a large rifle on his back.

I'd noticed a few days after first seeing him, that he has a cybernetic arm, as if he's half robot.

I lower my eyes and remained silent.

"Still have nothing to say, do you?" The Archer asks, "Well, perhaps soon you will. We will break you eventually, Zoey."

He knows it infuriates me when he uses my first name, and he always has a slight smile on his face.

"Have some fun." He says to the other man, "Go a bit above the usual today, though."

He walks out of the cell, shutting the door behind him as the other man walks behind me.

I keep my head lowered as he circles me, before stopping in front of the chair.

He raises my chin and forces me to look at him, before punching my stomach repeatedly.

I recoil and cry out, my voice hoarse and raw, but make no sense with the sound.

I haven't uttered a word to them, and I'm not going to break my streak, I suppose.

I lose count on the amount of punches he gives me, but when he lets go I hang my head in exhaustion.

He then starts hitting my back with various objects, some electrocuting my body.

I fall into unconsciousness again, my only escape from this horrible, cruel world.

When I wake I'm alone, lying in a corner of the room in a small pool of my own blood.

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