Page 74 of Dissension

She hates that they can see her this way.Weak.

Shaking, she tries rubbing sensation back into her hands, shoulders hunched up, ready for anything. They’ve done this for a reason and it can’t be good.Oh, please don’t rip off my fingernails, she thinks desperately.Don’t shove hot needles under them like you did to X.

Without warning, those large gloved hands grab her own and place them over a new object in front of her, having her feel the strange, smooth, thin object. Dread is ice down her spine; they are having her feel the tool of torment they are going to use on her!

“You monsters,” she utters hatefully, tasting the salt of her tears.

As she feels the hard object for a few seconds more, Kara feels her body begin to shake and tremble ever harder, a sob working its way up her throat with realization. It’s a cane. They’re going to cane her and they’re going to videotape her while they do it, zoom in on her face and eat up her screams-

“Please don’t.” Her voice breaks. She can’t help but think of how she used to beg her father to not beat her when she messed up dinner. The way his belt felt-

“Please don’t,” she repeats like a broken record, body shaking violently.

She can’t do this.She can’t-

Not a single word is spoken to her, as if she isn’t even human. She’s just a thing, an object.

Something cold is placed against her cheek as she continues to beg, making her go silent. When her mind catches up with what it is, she freezes in place. It’s a knife. Holding still, she feels it travel away from her face,oh God, are they going to cut her? It travels to her throat and she imagines the spray of blood that would follow if they just slit her throat on camera for a true snuff film.

Who says they won’t? We have no idea if they’ve killed people before on these videos.

The tip of the knife catches on the neck of her shirt momentarily before it begins to rip through, tearing it open, exposing her heaving chest to their view…and the camera. They leave her bra, small favors. “I didn’t know what color lingerie you wanted, so I kept it c-classic,” Kara utters with attitude, voice shivering.

There’s a noise that filters through the earplugs; perhaps cruel laughter.

A chill takes her, making the hair stand up on her arms as she shivers in humiliation, waiting for her awful fate to continue forward. Nothing happens for a few minutes, but she can feelsomething get close, as if a camera is being panned around her body, getting intimate with all her angles.

Sickos.

Then, it begins.

The first strike upon her flesh nearly blanks her entire mind of thought and reason. The air vanishes in her lungs so quickly that she cannot even scream. The next attack happens so quickly that Kara falls to her hands, barely holding herself up.

It feels like being hit with a sharp hammer, licks of fiery pain across her spine.

After a moment, the pain subsides and no more attacks are made upon her form. She knows they are waiting, trying to make her relax just enough before they strike again, probably zooming in with the camera to gether best side.

A blaze of pain erupts across her spine.

A scream finally rips free of her throat, dragging its claws up her esophagus painfully. Again and again, she is struck brutally with the cane, with the technique of someone who knows where to hit and when, how to best draw agony but not to cause serious damage. At least,not too soon.

“Stop, stop, pleasestop!” Kara screeches as she writhes, trapped under the onslaught.

She feels something warm and wet drip from her back.

Blow after blow falls upon her until it almost becomes a blur, each strike blending into the pain of the next. Her screams crack as her throat gives out, raw and hoarse from the sheer volume of her tormented wails.

Time blurs. Her mind shifts and fractures, nearly numb with the strain of the situation. She’s certain she’s going to die. She almostwantsto die, just to escape this punishment.

Charlie never beat her this hard, did he? She can’t remember. She can’t remember anything right now.

The next blow never falls, leaving her gasping and drooling on the stoney floor. She’s too weak to fight, to sit up. If they hit her again, she’s certain she’ll no longer care, she’ll simply leave herself.

Hands begin working at the shackles, unhooking her from the floor, her hands being bound once more. It appears her torture is over for now; this sick clip of a half-naked woman being caned as she screams is complete.

It’s a relief when the agony stops and she’s half carried, half dragged away. Her feet don’t work, tied as they are. Even if they weren’t tied, she doesn’t think she could stand, feeling weak with shock. Her flesh feels hot and cold.

She’s thrown to the floor unceremoniously in a heap, probably back in her original space. The dull ache of hitting the floor is nothing compared to the fire in her back. She imagines she’s black and blue, an ugly map of pain.

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