Real shame You got yourself into this damn mess.
No worries, you could just outrun them, if you could still run. It was annoying really, having your legs sawed off and unable to walk anymore.
Hey, at least they were kind enough to stitch you up before you passed from blood loss! So still a slight win, maybe.
That crazy mercenary took an interest in you, at first it was mere curiosity and intrigue—before slowly escalating into infatuation then a full time obsession.
Safe to say, Wank liked you. Alot.
Like? It was a strange thing for them, especially since love and romance weren't really a thing in Nevada, since Violence and the smell of blood were the more prominent things you'd find here.
But, here we are, you are, actually.
Struggling was tiring, yet you couldn't just give up, no. Not yet when you're so close to freedom.
The ropes were tight, of course they were. But that didn't deter you, so you struggled harder, until they loosened up enough to slide through.
Finally, out of those damn ropes..Now the real problem, walking.
Just how bad could be your luck be?
Groaning softly in both slight frustration and in discomfort from the small burning sensation from the rope, you crawled to the door, trying to reach the door handle. Once you did, it was locked.
Damn it.
What could you even use to unlock the door? Not like you can kick it down, no legs remember?
That escape was for nothing.
Click.
What now? Oh no, not now—Fuck, you need to hide.
Crawling to the underside of the bed, you hid under there, not wanting to be seen and well..Get tied up again, those ropes hurt like hell.
Thud, Thud, Thud...
Heavy footsteps entered the room, the door opens with a soft click, a gentle whoosh as it closes. Dirty black combat boots seen underneath the bed you hid in.
Wank.
They stop at the bed, until silence was all you could hear, and your beating heart, racing like a drum as the pulse rings in your ears, an Omen, a fucking omen that you may lose another limb.
"Come out."
Wank said, hollow and stoic as their tone, nothing phased this grunt.
Silence.
"Fine."
A hand under the bed, your breath hitches, holding in your breath like a secret, scooting further away from the invasive limb.
Wank seemed to be unconvinced with their empty hand as they pulled it out under the dusty underside of their bed—or rather, Wank's and their beloved's bed.
Grab.
You yelped, how could they know where you were? Damn it, that hurts. To be pulled by the stump of your knees.
"Gotcha."
Wank mutters softly, dragging you like a feral and desperate animal, as they quickly get you out of your hiding spot.
Now on the floor, they gazed upon your pitiful form, begging at them—pleading like they will ever listen.
"Bad Grunt."
They scold, before grabbing the back of your shirt, now dragging you out of the room.
Poor you, it seems like your legs aren't the only things that would be missing after this.
"𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓."