Crack Of Dawn (Dream x GeorgeNotFound)

Execution

A hand wrapped around Scott's throat, ceasing his attempts. The former angry words were replaced with labored breaths as he struggled for air.

"Oh, that's right." The man continued. "As soon as you were of legal age, you falsely reported her to the insane asylum and got her taken away to rot."

It seemed as if Scott wanted to object, but a huff was all that escaped his lips.

"Slow and excruciating torture! You put her in a madhouse, you sick animal. Your own mother." The figure slowly reached up to pull off his mask, causing the cop to fly into a flurry of panicked thrashes. "And for what, Scott? The family house? You couldn't wait to inherit it, so you sped things up a bit."

The grip on the throat was loosened to let Scott talk. After drawing in a few shaky breaths, he widened his eyes in pure, unfiltered fear. "What the fuck are you?"

George wished he could see from the cop's perspective, but the man's back was turned as he leaned over the chair across from him. He wondered what it was that changed the usually arrogant expression to that of sheer terror.

The figure put the mask back on, immediately getting to work. George watched the man across from him sit wordlessly, blankly staring off into space with a gaping mouth.

Whatever it was behind the mask, it was enough to traumatize a cop with years of experience in gruesome fields. It would have to be something so terrible that George couldn't even comprehend it.

The man whipped up a combination of strange liquids in a small glass jar, passing it to George. "Mix."

He himself continued fussing over the workstation, neatly laying out a set of intricate tools on the surface. It seemed like George wouldn't be commanded again, so he complied in fear of what would happen if he didn't.

He grabbed the metal stick sitting up in the jar, swirling it around with his free hand. After deeming the work satisfactory, he clenched and unclenched his sore fingers, finally getting to appreciate how the numbness seeped away, letting him regain full control of his joints.

The limbs that were still tied down ached even more, however. He uncomfortably shifted in his seat in an attempt to soothe the dull pain, but it felt as if an invisible force was weighing down on him.

A few moments passed until the man turned around again, picking up the jar with a satisfied hum. He poured the contents into a needle, some of the thick liquid oozing down the sides of the tube.

Scott had been mostly still ever since their little "talk", rooted to his seat. He made no attempts to move, the only sign of life hinting that he hadn't turned into a stone statue being the occasional twitch that darted across his face.

As unsettling as the sudden change of demeanor was, it seemed to work in the psychopath's favor. There were little to no attempts of resistance as the cop was hauled up and strapped to the surgical table.

The man wasted no time fastening his arms and legs down into makeshift clasps attached to the sides, closing the locks with a sharp click. He wheeled up a chair for himself that allowed him to sit at an angle that overlooked the scene.

George couldn't see the eyes behind the mask, but he could tell how they would most likely be glinting with a sick sense of curiosity and glee. The psychopath had acquired a new toy to play with in his lair, and the anticipation hung thick in the air.

"Right." The man finally spoke out, voice gruff from concentration. "I want to make this slow." He spared a quick glance from his victim at George. "And a fun show for our guest, of course."