Twin Moon

Chapter 6

WG-02.

Some time ago.

I’ve dealt with a lot up until this point. I’m proud to say that through it all, I have not broken. All my life I’ve known pain. I’ve grown up on it. Lived it, learnt it, tasted it, endured it. I know pain. Intimately. I have been pushed to the furthest limits imaginable, both in mind and body. And I’ve still not broken. I am stronger because of how far I have been pushed. I have endured and survived more than anyone else possibly could. I have been molded into the ultimate weapon, created from pain to cause havoc. I am the shadow in the dark, the monster under the bed. I am the bringer of death. Nothing could ever break me. But this... This is unlike anything else that I have endured before. This is beyond the point of physical pain and mental torture. This is worse. This is a line I was naive enough to believe would never be crossed. This could break me.

His cold clammy hands slid slowly along my exposed thigh. The feel of his callused skin made me want to vomit. His breath was heavy and ragged, and his heartbeat was thumping excitedly in his chest. With my cheek pressed against the frigid metal of the table, and my hands bound tightly behind my back, my options were limited. I’d been trained for situations like this, I knew exactly what to do, but my energy was nearly depleted. My punishment this week was withholding my meals, so it’s been six days now since my last scrap of food. I already gave everything I could once I figured out his intentions, but that just made him even more angry. He got off on the struggle. I could feel how much it was getting him off, by the firm lump in his pants that was pressed hard against my backside. Everything about this was making me feel nauseous and weak. From the injuries I already sustained and the disgusting stink of his desire. My body was giving out and I know I can’t hold off much longer.

In one last-ditch attempt to get free, I flung my body upright with my head angled back and collided the top of my head with his nose. The satisfying crunch of breaking bones and his pained grunt told me I was successful. I turned my body in a shot to run, but he was too quick and kicked out with his leg, connecting it with my knee. I lost my footing and was stumbling forward, with my hands still bound behind me, I couldn’t steady myself and I slammed headfirst into the rough concrete wall. I was out.

The pain in my head was pounding like jackhammers, vibrating all through my body. My ears were ringing with a high-pitched screech that made me wince. The rhythmic thumping against my back alerted me to more pain. My crotch was burning in agony. I tried to open my eyes, but they were heavy and felt sticky. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t move. My hands were still bound, and something heavy was pressed against them. The thumping at my back increased in speed and the pain in my gut intensified. Oh god no. Please no. I cried out in pain, begging for him to stop. Grabbing the hair at the back of my head he pushed my face into the table hard. His grunts and groans filled the room.

Through the cloud of the throbbing pain in my head, I was able to piece together a few things. The stickiness in my eyes was blood. My Blood. And by the feel of it, it was coating my entire face. I was bent over the cold metal table with my hands tied and my bottom half bare. The guard was thrusting himself deep inside me, and it hurt like f*****g hell. I tried to thrash under his grip, but he just lifted my head and slammed it back into the table, making my already aching head scream for mercy. His other hand was gripping my bound hands to restrict my fighting movements. The more I tried to fight him, the more he hurt me. So I stopped. I just lay there, begging silently for him to stop. As he pounded his hard d**k into my aching nether region, tears pooled in my eyes. What more could I do? He is a 6’2 giant beast, built like a wrestler, and I’m just a small framed sixteen-year-old genetically engineered demon.

After what felt like hours, he finally had enough. He let me go and stepped back. My limp body lay unmoving on the cold metal table. His breathing was heavy and the smell of his sweat and c*m filled my nostrils. I didn’t move, I couldn’t. The pain in my body was too much. I heard him pull his pants back up and then he cut the rope around my wrists. My arms dropped to the table like limp noodles. They were too heavy, and I was too weak to lift them. I listened as he walked to the door, it creaked open slowly before closing again behind him.

“I’ll be back for more” his gruff voice called through the slot in the door. I pursed my lips and furrowed my brows together. The pounding pain in my body was replaced by an intense fiery rage. The choice was made then and there. He’ll never get the chance.

After a while I built up enough energy to move from the cold metal table, I lifted my torn pants and hobbled to the bed in the corner. The metal springs creaked and squeaked as I lowered my raw body onto the filthy mattress. I lay down on my side and curled my knees to my chest. I pulled the thick dirty blanket up to my shoulders and wrapped my arms around myself tightly. Tears once again began to pool in my eyes, but I blinked them away.

This is life. My life. Break a rule, punishment. Lose a fight, punishment. Talk back, punishment. Punishment. Punishment. Punishment. I existed around being punished. My pale skin is littered with the scars of my mistakes, from cuts to burns to lashings and more. They were always creative with my punishment. But I earned each one. I know that. I was bred for this, it’s my only reason to exist. But deep down inside of myself, I feel like there must be more. I feel it, in my soul. If I even have a soul. Do monsters have souls? I hope we do. Anyway, this is my world. Born in a lab and engineered for eradication. I don’t even have a proper name. Whiskey-Gulf Zero-Two. That’s what I’m called, or Whiskey for short. I’m nothing. No one. A monster, created for pure destruction.

Eventually, my beaten body drifted off to sleep, or a sleep like unconsciousness The same old dream taunted me. Always the same thing. Never different. It’s just tedious at this point. I was sat on the cold ground of my room. My knees were curled up to my chest and my small arms wrapped around them. I was hurting, I’d just endured another punishment. And just like always, I looked up at myself. A copy, or a hallucination, or a mirror image of me stood looking down at me. The other me tried to speak to me, but I could never hear what I said. That always bothered me more than I cared to admit. Why couldn’t I hear it? For as long as I can remember I had this dream. The other version of myself slowly grew up and changed as I did. But I could never hear it. I would daydream sometimes about what it was that the other me was saying. I don’t think I will ever be fully satisfied until I know for sure what ‘it’, what ‘I’ am saying.

When I woke again, I expected it was still a few hours before dawn. I was aching all over. My head was pounding, my arms were heavy, and my wrists stung from the rope burn. But above all, one pain stood out among the rest. The place between my legs was burning, any movement brought on an annoying stinging pain. I slowly moved my hand down between my thighs and touched the area. I hissed and whipped my hand back again. It hurt to touch. It was swollen and sensitive, tender and raw. That f*****g bastard. A dark red color on my fingertips caught my attention and I moved my hand in front of my face to inspect. My fingers had fresh blood coating them. I wiped my hand on my dirty blanket and slowly sat up on the bed. My wrists were red and raw, the burns from the rope left dark purple bruising as well. My knuckles were swollen and split from where I tried to fight him off. What a pointless venture that turned out to be.

I struggled to my feet and swallowed the whimper that nearly came out. No crying. Monsters don’t cry. One lashing for one tear. Growing up, I learned quickly not to cry. The scars on my back are a testament to my lesson. One tear, one lashing. My scars are years old now. No tears mean no lashings, so I let none fall. I limped to the small sink in the corner of my room and turned on the tap. As per usual, the water was freezing. I cupped my small hands under the stream to catch the water, then gently placed my face into the collected water. I ran my wet fingers over my beaten face, letting the moister wash away the blood. I cupped my hands again and washed more water over my face. I did this until the water that dripped from my face lost its red tinge.

I let my fingers roam the skin of my face, feeling for new wounds. There’s no mirror in my room, so this is how I learnt to inspect myself. I started at my hairline, where the throbbing was coming from. My hair was matted together and felt like it was covered in dry blood. I quickly found the reason why, just past my hairline, a large open gash. It was dry, risen and crusted over. My hair had somehow caught most of the blood, and once it dried, it seemed to have plugged the wound and stopped the bleeding. Is it any wonder I knocked myself out, it was gnarly. I moved down to the swollen area around my eye, it was twice the size it should have been, and a deep cut ran across my cheekbone to just below my eye. The skin was tender to the touch and felt warm. Could mean I’ve fractured my eye socket, or maybe my cheekbone. My fingers moved to my mouth where my bottom lip held a small split. I let my tongue poke out and slid it along the lump on my lip. It wasn’t too bad, I’ve had worse. I let my hands trail down to my neck and again met with sore tender skin.