SHATTERED AND BROKEN
Damien sat shackled in the back of the van, his wrists aching from the cuffs biting into his skin. Every bump on the road sent pain shooting through his ribs, but that wasn't what made him tremble.
"My mother... please..." he whispered, his voice raw. "She's dying. I have to pay the hospital before morning. I'm begging you. Please, let me go."
"Shut your mouth!" Commandant Roland snapped from the front. His voice was sharp, loud, merciless. "You should have thought twice before crossing the Oakbridges. Now you'll see what happens to people like you."
Damien stiffened. That name—Roland—was infamous in Langford. He was no ordinary officer. He was judge, jury, and executioner. People spoke his name in whispers, like a curse. In Roland's hands, no one came out the same.
Damien leaned forward, his voice cracking. "Where are you taking me?"
Roland gave a laugh, cold and empty. "To the place where justice lives."
Then a black hood dropped over Damien's head. The world went dark. His breath came in quick gasps. His pulse roared in his ears like thunder.
When the van stopped, they dragged him out without a word.
Boots pounded against concrete. Hands shoved him through a maze of corridors. He couldn't see, but he could feel it—the cold, the silence, the dread in the walls.
They tore the hood off, and the light blinded him.
He was in a narrow room. Metal walls. No windows. A single steel table between him and Commandant Roland.
Damien blinked, his body still trembling. "What is this place?"
Roland's eyes held no emotion. "This is where truths come to light."
Damien swallowed hard. "I want a lawyer."
Roland's mouth curled, but it wasn't a smile. "A lawyer? You're barely worth a name. You think anyone cares what happens to a leech like you?"
Damien felt rage boiling beneath his fear. "You promised I'd get the money. That was the deal. My mother—"
"Enough," Roland cut in. He slid a paper across the table. Damien stared.
It was the divorce agreement.
He looked up, disbelief tightening his chest. "Where's Clarissa? We had an agreement... I was promised—"
"I don't have time for your whining," Roland said. "Sign. Or you'll learn how deep pain can go."
Damien clenched his fists. If he signed now, without that money, his mother would die. He looked down at the paper, then back at Roland.
"I won't," he said, voice shaking. "Not until I see the money. I can't."
Roland's stare turned to ice. "So be it."
He snapped his fingers.
Two masked officers burst in. One grabbed Damien's arm. The other shoved the hood back over his face. Then the beatings began.
Fists slammed into his ribs. A baton cracked against his spine. His head hit the floor. Another kick to his side. Then another. Damien tried to cover his face, his gut, anything, but there was nowhere to hide.
The pain came in waves. Deep. Endless. Every blow screamed with betrayal.
Cold water crashed against his face.
Damien gasped, choking, coughing blood.
He looked up, barely able to open one eye.
Roland stood over him, calm as ever. "Sign the papers," he said. "Or what comes next will make this feel like kindness."
Damien's voice was barely a whisper. "Please… my mother will die… I just need a few hours…"
A slap cut him off. His cheek burned. His head spun.
Then came the words that stole the air from the room.
"Break his legs."
Damien's heart stopped.
"No," he whispered. "Please... please, don't."
But they didn't care.
The hood went back on, The baton came down hard—once, twice—shattering his kneecap with a sickening crunch.
"AHHHHHHHHH!" His scream tore through the room, raw and unrestrained. He clawed at the floor, trying to crawl away, but the pain pinned him like chains.
Another blow. And another.
His thigh twisted. Something snapped.
He vomited from the shock.
"STOP! PLEASE! I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!"
They didn't stop.
His body convulsed as the agony stole the last of his strength. Blood soaked through his pants, pooling beneath him.
By the time they stepped back, his legs were no longer legs—just mangled flesh and broken bone.
He sobbed, not from weakness, but from a pain no human was ever built to survive.
The hood was pulled off.
Roland crouched beside him.
Damien couldn't move. His legs bent at unnatural angles. Blood soaked the floor beneath him.
"You should have signed," Roland said softly, like a man offering advice. "Now, you'll never walk again. And no one is coming to help you. Not your wife. Not your mother. Not God."
And then Roland stood.
The door shut.
Damien lay there, a shell of what he had been. Broken. Alone.
And silent, except for the slow, trembling sound of his breath. The sound of a man falling to pieces.