The red lightning in the room flickered intermittently. Within its ethereal glow, the damp air felt heavy enough to drown in. The room was sparsely furnished: a large rectangular table with thick leather straps affixed to it; a dirty, wall-mounted shelf, its red cross barely visible beneath layers of grime; and the most obvious feature, a large rectangular mesh cage built on an elevated platform.
The unsteady light illuminated two figures within the cage. A young woman, her black eyes sunken into her skull, her blue hair heavily soiled. An oversized top was her only clothing. Beside her sat a young man with jet-black hair and an untamed beard that consumed most of his face. His green eyes stared emptily ahead, seeing nothing.
A sharp inhale, a muffled sob—the young woman's struggle to contain her tears was the only sound. The rhythm was broken by a scream from beyond the room, the final, desperate wail of the cage's former third occupant.
The woman's control shattered. Her own screams now resonated with the dying echoes of the man who had once shared this space. Amidst her wails, the empty eyes of the bearded young man did not flinch. His slow, even breathing continued, as if he were deaf to the despair engulfing him.
Noll had grown accustomed to this way of life. If he could be bothered to think, to calculate, he might arrive at the disturbing fact that his tenth year in captivity was fast approaching. It was a duration several multiples of the three weeks Lune, his now only cage mate, had spent in the hands of the Doom Legion.
But he couldn't be bothered. He didn't care.
When the dying wails finally ceased, Noll felt a slight tremor in his chest, a flicker that barely stirred the ashes of his heart.
'Rest easy, Wolf Teeth.' A part of his mind offered a silent prayer for the man. He hated it when he learned their names, but his brain wouldn't stop punishing him.
He saw Lune move from the corner of his eye. She had introduced herself on the first day, when they threw her in like a damaged tool. He hadn't responded. Who introduces themself in a death cage? There was a light about her, a stubborn refusal to be extinguished by the darkness. It reminded him of something he desperately wished to forget, so her name stuck in his mind. It only ever bothered to hold what he sought to release.
A warm hand touched his. Lune had shifted closer, sliding her hand into his.
The sensation was foreign. A warmth that didn't burn, spreading from his hand up his arm, putting a temporary floor beneath the endless drop of his apathy. She sought comfort. There was none to be found in him, but he couldn't be bothered to explain. He let his back rest against the cold metal wall, his gaze fixed on the space ahead.
There was no comfort in him, no. But as she laid her dirt-filled hair on his chest, her stifled cries escaping in soft pulses, he felt a certain stillness settle in his own heart.
"I don't want to die," she whispered.
No one ever does, he thought. No one knew that better than him. No matter how many times he sought death, he always found himself gripping life with bloody fingers when the end came. Not in his first year, when they inflicted wounds for sport; not in the years they used him as a training dummy; not when they first sawed off his hand and watched it regrow; not when he became their infinite meat bag, their sole supplier for a grim organ trade.
Death had been a constant visitor, but he had always sent it away.
Why? Why? WHY!
He screamed in the silence of his mind as a single, traitorous tear escaped his empty eye.
*****
A familiar, calming giggle echoed. Green grass, its blades caressing bare feet. A sun so warm it felt like a blanket. "Hey, Mum!" a young Noll shouted, chasing the source of the giggle. "She's running, she's running so fast!"
The image shifted. The garage. The smell of oil and metal. "Dad, see! See!" He held out his hand, a fresh cut across the palm, made with the knife he'd swiped from the kitchen. His father's curiosity curdled into a distress Noll would never understand. He watched his father clean the blood away to find only smooth, unbroken skin beneath. He remembered the look in his eyes—not happiness, but horror.
The final image. The hospital doors. "Don't leave me, Mum! Mummy, please!" His voice tore itself raw, but they never turned. They just walked away, each step a hammer blow to his heart.
He remembered the restraints. The people in white. The whir of a surgical drill growing louder as it approached his eye. Amidst the phantom sound, he woke.
Screech.
A stainless steel tray slid into the cage, its shriek solidifying Noll's wakefulness.
"Hey! Beef Bag found himself a wife!" the goon who had brought the meal sneered. Noll realized his head had ended up on Lune's thighs.
He sat up and turned to look at her. She stared back, and in her gaze, he felt a vulnerability he thought he had scoured from his soul. He was bare. Lune brought a hand to his face, her thumb gently swiping under his eyelid. He felt the dampness she wiped away. Crying. Why?
"Haa! It's all lovey-dovey in here," the scrawny goon cackled. His exposed chest was a canvas for a terrible tattoo. He laughed so loudly he didn't notice the towering figure that had entered the blinking red-lit room.
Lady K.
Her entry was announced by a single, deafening gunshot.
Dum!
Smoke oozed from the muzzle of the revolver in her hand. The scrawny goon's laughter turned into a wail.
"Drag him out. It's just a leg shot," Lady K commanded, stepping over the writhing man. Two of her lackeys moved with disciplined efficiency, hauling the goon away.
"Hello there, my sweetie," Lady K said, smiling at Noll.
His empty eyes came to rest on her. The void within them didn't fill with emotion; it sharpened. It coalesced into a single point of absolute cold, a stillness more hateful than any fire.
"Ah, that nasty look again," Lady K said, her amusement growing. "Mama doesn't like that, boy."
Her words did nothing. The cold point in his eyes intensified, a focused pressure that seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
"Stop. That." Lady K's voice was a low growl, her relaxed expression gone.
The pressure behind Noll's gaze only grew stronger.
The iris of Lady K's eye shifted from dark brown to a vengeful red. The temperature in the room dropped. The air grew heavier. Each breath Noll took felt like swallowing razors. He was looking at his demise, a lamb primed for slaughter, his neck laid on a guillotine awaiting the drop of its blade.
He knew this feeling. He steeled his mind. He would not give in. This was his rebellion, his refusal to be nothing but a meat bag. Blood began to drip from his nose, but his gaze did not waver.
"Ahhh!!!"
Lune's scream broke the dreadful stillness. The residual psychic pressure was too much for her to handle. Lady K's iris returned to its natural black.
"Your stubbornness hurt your girlfriend," she purred, drawing closer to the cage. Noll didn't bother to correct her. He would never honor her provocations with a reply.
"It's a pity your relationship will be so short-lived, Meatbag," she continued. "We might be saying a final goodbye to you."
For a moment, something flickered in Noll's eyes. Interest.
"Haa! Knew you'd be interested," Lady K cackled. Her lackeys, having just returned, joined in on cue. In the Doom Legion, everyone shared the Matron's mood.
Her laughter ceased abruptly. "Some nerd has requested your heart. He's offering something I can't refuse." Her eyes moistened, taking on a hopeful, innocent look. "With this payment, we can finally establish a true settlement. Or hell, take over one. Sweetie, you really are our shining star."
She leaned in, her voice a soft whisper. "It's a pity you won't be there to see your sacrifice transform the Bringers of Doom from a pathetic gang into Overlords. But don't worry. Your new girl will be joining you on the other side, too."
This time, the emotion that flickered on Noll's face was unmistakable. A deep, cold anger.
"Hahaha! I knew you fancied her. Just like you did for that tiny imp," Lady K said, visibly pleased. A face flashed through Noll's mind, but he let the memory sink back into the stillness.
"You know, she doesn't have to die," Lady K cooed. "All you have to do is survive the heart harvest. Your heart is your weakness, but who knows? Maybe you'll survive. Nothing like the power of love, right?" She erupted in laughter again. "Hell, if you survive her transplant too, I might even accommodate the idea of becoming a granny. A little baby meatbag wouldn't be so bad."
She trained her focus on him. "What do you think, Sweetie?"
Silence.
"Fuc#ing talk to me, you little shit!" she snarled, her hand shooting through the bars to grab his beard.
Spit.
Noll's saliva hit her eye with uncanny accuracy.
"Fuc# this shit!" Lady K screamed in pure rage. "Get me Paleface! We're doing that transplant right fuc#ing now!"
Noll did not care. Death was bliss. An end to the endless cutting, harvesting, and torture.
Screech.
The cage door was pulled open. Lady K dragged him forward by his beard, the thin blanket he used as cover falling away. He felt a sudden strain on his ankle. Lune was pulling him back. Why?
"Aaahh! Look at that," Lady K spoke, her rage turning to amusement. Her hand was a blur as she smote Lune across the cheek. "Look at you, tiny bird, opposing me." Blow after blow landed. "I will break your wings and grind them into paste."
Her lackeys took over, dragging Noll to the rectangular table and fastening his limbs into the clasps. Lady K continued to beat Lune, her cries growing weaker.
Noll did not care. He didn't. But an image kept resurfacing. A girl from years back, blue-haired like Lune, cheerful for no damn reason, yet… yet…
He closed his eyes, the words straining to leave his throat, each syllable a monumental effort.
"You… will… kill her… before her surgery."
Lady K's fist froze. She looked at Noll, then at Lune, and stopped. "Hurry up and get that damn surgeon!" she hammered.
Not long after, he arrived. "Paleface," they called him. His eyes were red from exhaustion, his gait wobbly from the metallic pole that substituted for his missing leg.
"We can't do the surgery yet," he said, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I need to properly sanitize and prepare my equipment."
"Sanitize what!" she screamed, causing Paleface to stumble backward. "He can fucking regenerate. If he dies, he dies. He doesn't need your fucking sanitation."
"But—" Whack. A sharp slap silenced his protest. "Get this train rolling, shrimp!" Lady K barked.
Paleface moved with effort, opening a battered briefcase beside Noll's head. He wobbled to the red-marked shelf. "We are out of anesthetics," he declared after a moment.
"Then do it without them. We don't use them when we saw off his legs, do we?"
"This is more complicated than your cannibalistic acts! I need to keep his muscles relaxed, at least. We need to hold off the surgery."
"I won't repeat myself. Begin," Lady K's voice came as a cold utterance.
Her eyes turned blue. Noll felt that empty calm cloud his mind again, his muscles going slack. It was like the dread from before, but worse. It was the feeling of his neck on the guillotine, but this time, his will to resist was being siphoned away.
"I'm sorry…" Paleface's voice reached him in a barely audible whisper.
A mechanical grind resounded as the handheld saw in the doctor's hand came alive, slowly making its way to the middle of Noll's chest.