Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loose files lay sprawled out across a decrepit wooden desk tattered between dingy manila envelopes. A few open flames from some candles bathed them in a ghastly red light. They seemed to be taunting Jack as he sat back in his chair, glowering down at them with disdain and indifference at what he knew he needed to do. Paperwork for six unsuspecting women rested within these files, filled with names, some other information not nearly as important, and their photos, all waiting for Jack to peruse them and make the decision of which would help him carry his goals to heights beyond the comprehension of this little village. They weren’t even aware that they had been selected for anything.

It seemed such a simple task to do. Pick up the files. Look through them. Choose the one he liked best. Bring her here, and get to work. As Saddler had told him before giving him the files, all the women – ‘offerings’, they had been called ‘offerings’ in some very crude decision - whose information rested underneath his hands were selected for their qualities which Saddler assured would be ‘most pleasing’ to him. Jack had expressed that he didn’t necessarily care which might be the most pleasing to him. The success of this project, of his future, was the most important task, and he would do what he needed to see that made a reality. When he had said this to Saddler, the old bastard dressed in lavish, gaudy robes, the man had given him a wide and twisted, tooth-filled grin with a corrupted laugh, praising Jack for his willingness to do the work that others were not. Our holy gift must be shared at all costs, he had droned. In his stupor of power, he completely missed the nuance that Jack doing whatever needed to be done could just as easily include ending his worthless life.

That didn’t need to happen yet. What was needed now was a suitable host for the next part of the project, and she was needed now. Donning a heavy sigh, Jack grasped a clear glass bottle that sat on the edge of his desk, the contents sloshing underneath the smooth walls. Turning the lid and pouring the amber drink, whiskey flowed into a waiting glass. It smelled strong, its burnt scent taking form underneath the rest of his senses which were heightened and always on edge. With the bottle back at its spot and its contents again calm, in wait for the next time he would want it, he opened one of the drawers of the desk and reached for a cigar. He didn’t expect his decision to take long, but he’d made enough decisions over the previous weeks, some questionable and others so small that he wondered why his time was being wasted on them, and this one felt just like the one that could drive him to complete frustration. And so he trimmed the end of the cigar with his knife and leaned in to one of the candles, lighting it against the flame and exhaling the smoke as he leaned back into his chair. The flavor was rich, and he could, at the least, appreciate that he hadn’t been given the cheapest of luxuries when he requested them.

He gave a look out the nearby window, part of its glass busted, leaving a jagged remnant where biting air occasionally crept in. He'd prefer to be back at his camp, but the inclement weather practically insisted he do tonight's work behind covered walls. In front of the night sky were dark clouds, hinting at a storm to come soon. It was always raining in this forsaken place, and even worse, cold. He had the underlying impression that any ‘offering’ brought would not last for long. If they wanted this project to succeed, she would have to be treated in a manner beyond what the incompetent, idiotic servants were. If one of them dropped dead, it was none the difference to anyone, everyone expendable for the great goals that the rulers had. The other ‘rulers’ were unaware that Jack felt the same about them, but he also understood that losing too many warm bodies could cost a war, even if those bodies were blatantly useless.

This didn’t matter right now. The offering’s security would be a problem he would deal with when the current problem at hand was resolved. He had work to do. Another sigh, this time filled with the smoke of the cigar that covered the files in a temporary haze. Sitting forward in the seat, he pressed the files together into a neat pile and started. The first one opened, and his eyes quickly roused through the words and statistics. He wasn’t impressed. The information was lack luster, but it was enough to tell him that this woman was weak in spirit and mind and would die within these walls, if not from the project itself then from making some stupid decision to run into the woods where exposure would certainly kill her. He only glanced at her photo before closing the file and giving it a toss to the left edge of his desk.

The second one was no better, if not more disappointing than the first. Another scan of the words and image, and he shoved it right with the other one. He was right. This wasn’t going to take him long. Another sip of the whiskey, a soft burn in his throat, followed by a puff of the cigar. As the smoke danced in front of the files, he opened the third one. And while he had said to Saddler that ‘certain’ aspects did not matter to him, he found that the image of the third offering had immediately drawn him in, his eyes not even bothering to look first at the numbers and written information. His expression changed from stern, certain, to interested, and he took another sip of whiskey to clear himself from the immediate feelings. The statistics were the most important – any pretty face could hide an array of failures and shortcomings. With a slow gaze, he looked over them, taking in every letter and number that was this woman, impressed that this one didn’t have the shortcomings of her predecessors. He liked her, and he liked her a lot.

He was already too drawn in. He needed to slow down. He had to look at the other files before any decision could be made, and he didn’t need to let his mind muddle with thoughts that didn’t relate to his goals. That was the practicality of it, and he wouldn’t be distracted by menial emotions and infatuation. Closing the file, he tossed it to the other side of his desk – the potential pile of suitors – then he went back to work. It wasn’t too hard to work with the rest of the pile. Each file past that one unfortunately only disappointed him, and by the time he had finished his task of reviews, he quickly realized he still only had one file that he felt offered any chance of success. At least, that was what he kept telling himself, unsure why he felt any ebbing of doubt or hesitation underneath his generally certain demeanor. As the cigar in his hands dropped its last bit of ashes onto his desk, he swiped them away and brought the chosen file back to center. Putting out the cigar with a resistant hiss of the flame on the pile of failed files, he again open the one he wanted.

She’s perfect, he thought, abruptly and without any understanding of why he felt that way.

For the project, or for...himself, he had to admit he wasn’t sure. But his feelings were certain and he trusted his judgment, though he knew that underneath this certain judgment was something he couldn’t entirely understand. But he didn’t think it mattered – he had become successful at hiding any feeling that wasn’t necessary in the moment. She was entirely what the project needed, and he wanted her, here, now. Of course, it was up to him to get her there – the part of the job none of the others wanted to do, and the part he wouldn’t even bother trusting to them.

Nobody had the connections that he had, or the training. Her file explained where she was most of the time, and he could work with that. By the descriptions in her file he knew she would put up a fight, and he would have to be careful to not hurt her, to not damage his future. He would probably be fighting her far into the project’s last days. He was not deterred by this. He could still do this. None could rightfully challenge him. He only would need a week before the project could finally start, and before the next parts of his purpose and plan could be put into motion. The others, so pathetic and arrogant, wouldn’t even begin to have the slightest hint of what he was capable and what he was really doing.

The rest of the files were useless. He wouldn’t even bother using them for back ups. If this one failed – and he would make certain that didn’t happen – he would start over, and find someone better. But he told himself that failure wasn’t an option, for him or for her, and he intended to keep that mindset. It was what had gotten him this far, and it was what would ensure his success. If she was not in agreement with that, with him, then he would make her by the end of everything.
There would be no opposition against him.

He leaned back again in his seat, the taste of whiskey and tobacco still on his senses as he continued to review the file, continued to ensure himself that he was making the right decision for the project and not just for his own personal interests. One of the candles sputtered and the flame shrunk until it was gone. Tomorrow was when he would leave. He would demand the servants prepare a room for her, something suitable to what would need to happen and something far from everyone else, and he would leave for her. He would have to be careful – as would she – as it would be certain that others would want to partake in the project. Especially if the offering was someone like her. However, this was his project, his power and most importantly – his offering – and if even a single glance was caught gawking at what was his, he would draw enough blood to paint the gray walls of the castle a deep red.

He intended to let nothing keep him from what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Underneath the fumbling of your hands, the mechanisms of the door’s lock were clicking, the tip of a knife poking at whatever felt like it might give. Another strange clicking sound, and you rustled the door knob. It still didn’t give under your efforts. More jostling, your anger building as you awkwardly shoved the knife into whatever position might even have a chance of letting you escape. You were certain something was giving, the knife nearly turning to the side, and with one more forceful press, it was on its side. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise, and quickly went to the doorknob yet again.

It didn’t budge.

With a feeling of frustration, you let out a grunt, shoving the dingy blade of the knife into the wooden door. That door had two locks, and it suddenly made sense – what use was a lock that was accessible to the person one was trying to keep in? There was almost certainly a lock on the outside, if that wasn’t the actual lock for the entire thing. Whatever this interior mechanism was, was either obsolete or had no authority over your ability to escape. The absurdity and stupidity of the strange door only added to the boiling anger that was underneath your skin, and you took the knife out of the wood from its small notch it had created and began to pace the cold stone tiles of the room.

Three days had passed by, or you were at least thinking it was three, based on the rise and fall of the sun and moon outside the window. You had even looked to that window for a potential way to escape, but it had only taken you one glance to see that the window opened up to a horribly long dive to jagged rocks and rough waves, of which neither you would survive. In the distance were walls that obviously signified a castle connected right to where you were. But it had been three long tolerable days you had been trapped, barely sleeping and certainly hardly willing to eat the horrid excuse for ‘food’ they brought you. Even the water had a stale taste, the same taste and scent that permeated the air of the little prison cell where you were stuck. You hated it more by every passing minute, if that were at all possible.

In one brazen attempt, you had even looked to the soot-filled fireplace up to the chimney as a way of escape – but you quickly had realized there was no way you would fit in the small space, and even if you could the walls were likely just too smooth to climb. Then you were riddled with the thought of being trapped in such a tight space, forgotten, immobile, and you shuttered. There was no climbing. So you had moved to the next best thing you could manage, which was to start going after the servants that brought you your amenities daily. Really, your violence should've been directed first to them, but something was very concerning about how they moved. The last one that had walked in had been stupid enough to carry some sort of knife on him, maybe for utility or for food, you didn’t know, but it had quickly become your knife when he wasn’t paying attention. When you reared back as if to attack him, he did not seem at all intimidated, only giving you an empty glare with eyes that showed little life as he backed out of the room with the click of the lock behind his movements. It had been a strange exchange.

That had been some hours ago. Your patience was now very thin and your resolve waning just as the moon outside your window. It was chilled, the air of the room, and it bit and nipped your exposed skin like an annoying little insect. The room – your cell - itself seemed to be an old bedroom that had been then converted into a storeroom, if not converted back into a bedroom, the bed resting in the center but sheet and cobweb covered furniture filling much of the floor’s empty space. Jagged stone tiles and walls were all around. The ceiling was high, almost always shaded. It was an ugly and uncomfortable sight. No matter what it was you didn’t want to be here, and as you took another deep breath through your nose, the scent of dust nearly made you choke. They had even taken your clothes when you’d removed them off for a wash, leaving you a robe that was far too revealing for how little heat the room had. You were given a fresh one every day. You wanted out of here with such passion but you were running out of ideas and plans and patience.

There were footsteps echoing outside the door and up what you thought might be a hallway. The memories of even getting to this room were a haze, splotchy and full of gaps, so your memory of the outside was useless. You tensed something fierce and went to hide behind some piece of covered furniture, maybe a dresser, waiting with your breath held in your throat. The knife’s handle felt firm in your hand. The air was making you shiver as you waited, but you grit your teeth and did your best to ignore this. When someone entered they obviously had the key to the door, and you intended to get that damn key this time and escape. This would be it as you knew that if you could get out of this room, you’d be free. Someone had kidnapped you and kept you up in this room like some sort of pet, and you were sick of it. Now it would end. You were done with this nonsense. This would work.

A click from the door. You couldn’t see it from your angle, but you heard it, the hinges resisting from years of wear, faint light drifting over the floor. Then, the door closed, the darkness returned, with sound of the lock being engaged overtly loud. Did someone follow this intruder and lock it from the outside? Were they locked in here with you? This plan already had holes but you had nothing better. After the click, there was silence for about a minute, as if whoever had entered were doing the same thing you were. Observing. Waiting. Planning. Did they have the patience to continue waiting? After this, the footsteps began far louder than any of the lackeys from before. This made you hesitate in your decision – you were in no shape to actually fight, even with a weapon, relying more on your surprise and speed than strength on the last attack. Who had been sent for you? Why had someone new been sent? What did this mean for you?

It didn’t matter. You needed out. You were quick and you were prepared. You had a desire like no other to be free. And so as you stood by the piece of furniture, breath held deep in your chest, you heard the footsteps close the distance. Your knife was up, ready to pierce and to maybe steal a key you weren’t sure existed. The footsteps were...different, though. Loud. Calculated. Confident. You were scared admittedly, but you had to ignore that because your fear would probably be the death of you in the fight that was about to be. Now the figure was coming right by your hiding place, and your heart beat like a caged animal. This was it. And, as you saw the shadow of the form step by, you faltered.

They were twice your size. This was not some ordinary servant, nothing like the scrawny robed figures who brought you food with their ghastly pale skin. No, this...whoever he was – it had to be a male - there was no way he was some low nobody. This had to be one of the higher ups in the castle, someone of respect. Maybe even someone who was directly responsible for you being here. A gray shirt, no robe. Jeans too, but it was hard to see. You didn’t care, not in this moment. You had to leave and escape, no matter who this was, and so with a very quiet step, you lunged from the darkened hiding place, knife out, ready to slice his flesh. And as you did, you let out a very loud yelp, a massive hand taking your wrist with a tight grip.

“What is this?” he stated. The voice gave your mind a scare. His voice was quiet and monotone in his words as he looked at you. You tried to pull back, but he didn’t seem bothered by this, and the hand that held your wrist with the knife started to squeeze. You gave another yelp, trying to resist until the force was so strong that you had to drop the knife. The metal hitting the floor reverberated off the walls, and your heart sank. Whoever held you terrified you. He was large, his arms covered in dense muscle underneath the gray shirt with struggle to contain him within it. Military-style boots below his dark jeans. It was his face that made you the most uncomfortable, a very aggressive yet mild expression across it, followed by a grand scar that you were surprised had healed as well as it appeared. He didn't seem young but he certainly wasn't aged, his form far too sharp and maintained. Blue eyes now pierced your own, and you found yourself unable to move for just a moment as this figure seemed to take you in, and you him.

That hesitation didn’t last long, another attempt to resist him building within you, clawing to escape the hesitation you felt. A jerk back, then another. The knife was right there, and you glanced at it, only for him to realize your interest and to lift one of his boots and kick it far out of the way. It slid into a clutter of covered furniture that you knew would be hard to move. This had fallen apart far too quickly for your liking, and now you really didn’t know what to do. The other ‘servants’ had not been this intense. You were not as prepared as you thought you were and the notion of escape dwindled as the beat of your heart pounded in your ears.

“So you’re who everyone’s afraid of?” He leaned down to match height with you, and seemed to look at you as if you were some fine piece of art that was to be viewed; curious at the details but not entirely interested. He genuinely gave the smallest sign of a smile, but it was gone in an instant. “I don’t understand that.”

You pulled again, tired of his grip on you, every muscle in your arms resisting him, and he actually let go, causing you to stumble back against some of the furniture. Your eyes went wide like a scared deer. Seemingly by his own instinct he reached out, his two hands at your sides as if to steady you. This only frustrated you further, and you let out a dissatisfied grunt, shuffling back and away from him as well as the corner and furniture would let you. His eyes just turned to disapproving slivers.

“I’m sure you’re angry,” he began, walking away from you. As terrified as you were it was obvious that this man wasn’t like the others you had witnessed. They didn’t seem to speak the same language as you when they bothered to speak at all. They appeared almost as if they were mindless shells bringing you things instead of like real people. This was definitely a real person, a capable person, and one who might explain this whole ordeal to you. He was an enemy but he was an ounce of hope.

“Who are you, and why am I here?” you abruptly interrupted. You were angry, furious as a better term.

He gave a look of indifference to you, and then again stepped away, turning to pace the room as if he wanted to take in the state of it. And what a sorry state it was.

“You’re here for an important purpose,” he detracted. The way his boots hit the floor betrayed his calm tone. He had authority. And his answer...that was not what you had asked. His pacing made you hesitate in your thoughts, but he didn’t come towards you, instead just idly moving about the room as if to pass the time. “Hardly fair of ‘em to keep you here,” he muttered to himself.

“Just let me go!” you hissed abruptly, and when he looked back at you, it was quite obvious you were shivering even in the small amount of light. This was a mixture of fear and the cold temperature, but you were trying your damnedest to not be obvious with either one. He was an enemy, and you didn’t want to show any kind of weakness to him. Then again, you didn’t exactly look like a formidable opponent in this moment, hardly clothed by the thin robe and a bit, if not a lot, disheveled. But any wild animal could be dangerous with the right circumstances.

“You cold, or what?” He was looking down at you, with...what? Pity? Anger? You couldn’t tell, but it maddened you even further. Who was he and how dare he disrespect you like this?

“Answer me,” you hissed. The robe barely covered you, and the room did not hold any kind of heat. The fact this castle held itself together in any form was surprising to you. You were miserable, but you wouldn’t satisfy him with an answer.

He then muttered something about the servants being incompetent, ‘as hell’ was his quote, and stepped away from you, his head swiveling around the room as if looking for something. When he found whatever it was he wanted, he stepped towards it with intention, shoving a few pieces of furniture out of the way as if they were nothing. Your eyes were bright little dots watching this, curious and confused. Most of this furniture weighed more than you, so what could he do to you if he so desired? The furniture resisted him with loud scraping sounds, which made you cringe. Behind them rested the fireplace, covered in years of dust and old ash and as aged as anything else in the castle, but still likely functional. You knew it was there, considering you’d thought about escaping, but you hadn’t even let the thought of using it for heat pass you by. Escape had been more important than any sort of comfort. Even more of a surprise was that you had not noticed the small pile of wood that rested near it, likely filled with rot and bugs if it could be used at all. You only watched – with much suspicion – as he took the wood and started the fire, having had a lighter or match on him.

Were you to be trusted with a fire? You could easily catch any piece of furniture in the room ablaze with one ember. The thought of that was pleasing. But your reason immediately took this thought from you, reminding you that with a locked door and no way to run, your tatters of a robe would catch just as easily as antique furniture.

Who the hell are you? was what you kept thinking to yourself after this. With a few sparks, the fire lit and bathed the room in a welcoming orange glow. The walls were still shadows to you, dark stone decorating them up to the high ceiling. As he stood up, walking back towards you, the heat began to spread, and you had to admit it felt great to your very exhausted body. Still, your nerves were having a war within you and when the man stepped towards you, you could only press yourself against some piece of furniture as if you might disappear from his view.

“You can call me Jack,” he told as he stopped just a few feet from you. What was this look he kept giving you? Why could you not read him? His face appeared to be weathered, angered, anything but peaceful, but the way he spoke didn’t imply any sort of emotion whatsoever. The impression you got was that this was just another day to him, and not an interaction with a hostage. Did he do this often?

“I don’t care who you are, Jack. “

“You asked who I was,” he pointedly reminded with his brow furrowed. And he was right, you had. You let out a nervous stutter and added,

“I just want to leave.”

“That can’t happen.” There might have been irritation here, but his face didn’t change if so. “You have a bigger purpose here. One that you should be grateful to be a part of.” His look was now obviously disproving, but you didn’t care about that. His words were almost an insult, and in your fit of rage and fear, you sneered. It was about to boil over, even past the fear that had pooled underneath all your emotions. This bastard of a man and any plan he had deserved no respect from you. So, sliding yourself between him and loose furniture, thinking you actually had the ability to fight this monster of a man, you attacked. Without even flinching, his hand moved, strafing you away from him and to the side. In your own falter, he reached for your arm, twisting it around your back so quickly that you had no time to comprehend anything that was happening. Now though, you were in a very uncomfortable position with both your arms held firm behind you as if you were being detained.

“I don’t want this to be difficult. I really don’t.” He loosened his grip some, but not enough to free you. “I’m a lot of things, sweetheart. But I really don’t want to be known as a man who takes advantage of a woman. If...I don’t have to be.”

What?! Such a horrid description, and it infuriated you, and you let your mind longingly think back to the knife he had kicked away. Who was he, and what did he want? Fuck, no, you just had to get out of here. You had to escape. As if your instincts were overruling any other rational thought that said you can’t beat this man, you started to rut against him, in which he simply tightened his grip again. He said nothing as you did this, but after an eternal few seconds, he sighed, pushing his weight down to force you onto your knees.

“Are you done with this?”

“Let me fucking go!” Your head ached with your anger, your muscles twitching with every sound and movement, your mind a disaster at this moment. You hadn’t felt this much rage in such a long time.

“No. Not until you calm down.”

Calm down?! You weren’t going to listen to him, to give him the satisfaction of respect for him, and so you found yourself fighting more, trying so hard to break from his vice grip around you. He seemed almost bored by this, unbothered as if you were just a nuisance and nothing more. You didn’t know if it were arrogance, or he legitimately could not be bothered to care, but the feeling frustrated you. After another minute of this struggle, he let out a very heavy sigh.

“If you don’t stop, this will be a lot worse. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” He didn’t wait very long to follow through with his threat, one large hand sliding over your neck and under your jaw. You wanted to fight this, but when his fingers wrapped around the front of your throat, slowly, as if he were giving you the moment to consider your actions, you started to calm. He didn’t have to squeeze until you were unconscious, the fear of just feeling his calloused grip over your delicate skin enough to make you halt. This was the closest any of these people had gotten to you, and it made you quickly realize he wasn’t going to waste time with your emotions like the others did. You weren’t going to win.

But you had known that from the beginning.

“That’s what I thought.”

He let go of you so that you fell to your hands and knees, scrambling in an instant to be away from whoever the hell this man was. Jack. He was Jack.

You felt disgustingly pathetic, now scantly dressed in some old storeroom, with whoever he was now showing far too much interest in you. Now you turned, standing and glaring at him. He really did just look like he was bored, though maybe now his eyes had just a trace of pity in them. Did he pity you? Why? How dare he have any feeling like that when he was obviously part of the reason you were here.

“They brought you something to drink earlier. Did you drink it?” He took a few loose steps, but his eyes seemed to be scanning the room. You didn’t reply because at this point you weren’t sure what to do. Should you keep trying to fight? That seemed dumb – he was twice your size, and had quickly shown he was not going to entertain your frustration. The door was obviously locked, he wouldn’t have been so stupid or arrogant to keep it unlocked. No. What did you do now except stand and stare at this beast of a man who called himself Jack?

“I take that as a no,” he grimaced, now actually walking and looking for something. He was making you nervous – you had no time to think while he was there pacing. But, he found a chalice of liquid sitting on some dresser, still quite full of whatever the hell they had brought. You remembered them bringing it but you weren’t full of an appetite for anything from this place. He lifted the thing, swirling the stuff, then gave a quick tick of his head as if he were off put by it. “I can understand why you didn’t drink it, but you’re going to have to.” He then turned back to you.

“I don’t have to do anything,” you insisted. You would at least do your best to not, anyway. You grit your teeth, baring them, animalistic instinct overriding anything human within you. “Answer my damn question! Why am I here?”

“Either you can drink it on your own, or I can make you.” He held up the chalice and ignored your questions. “That choice is yours.” The way he spoke the last bit, as if through grit teeth, disheartened you further, if that were even possible. Your breaths caught and the fierce demeanor you tried to show became but an obvious illusion.

“You’re not wrong to be afraid of me,” he abruptly said with a tone that betrayed his stoic demeanor. He set the chalice back down and gave a sigh. “But, you don’t need to be." He had a kind look to his eyes for an instant, and added, 'Hm, not now, anyway.”

Maybe you should’ve asked about what that meant. Maybe you needed to be more concerned. You were more concerned.

“You don’t get to demand things of me! Tell me why I’m here!” You huffed, clenching your fists, glaring at him with such disdain you thought it might begin to spill from you onto the floor. You were panicking. “Maybe I’d be more willing to work with you if I knew why I’m here!”

“You wouldn’t be,” he replied dryly and without reluctance. “I thought they might’ve already told you, but seems they can’t even do that.”

“What?” You gave him a suspicious glance. “What are you talking about?” You really, honestly didn’t understand anything that was happening around you. Him, the other servants, this room. No, none of it. You gave a very, very quick glance to the door, wishing you had some way to just walk out, but you knew better than to eye it while he was watching you.

“You really don’t know why you’re here?” he inquired.

“No.” It was a simple reply, but a true one. “Three days. Nothing.”

He gave a look of obvious anger, closing his eyes and grimacing, the scar on his face only helping to make him look much angrier. A click came from the fire, its warmth having filled the entire room by this point, and you only could stand and wonder what any of this meant. Then, Jack gave a sigh, leaning further against the dresser on which he rested and looking up to the ceiling with what seemed to be despair.

“Then I won’t fuck around.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes closed again, teeth showing in what could be taken as a grimace of pain, but you figured was annoyance. “You’re here as part of something big. Something to change this world. A project...for power.” He stopped his grimace to look at you. “To see if that parasite can be inherited through breeding.” The last word he said through grit teeth, as if the very word itself were something repulsive and unclean.

Oh, what the fuck? What did that mean? Parasite? You? Did ‘breeding’ mean you? Your heart sank a thousand miles, and you stepped back, as if his words were about to fall onto you. He knew what you were thinking.

“Yes, that means you. You’re the first one they want to test it on.” He crossed his arms.

“W...with..y..,” you began to mutter. These words were falling apart as you said them. Oh, how so much suddenly made sense to you, and how much you hated it.

“Yes, with me.”

“W...what?” you asked, but to the air more than to him. “What parasite?”

He disregarded this question. “This drink? Supposed to help. Somehow. Might make you tired too, so we shouldn’t waste time after you drink it.”

You were only blinking, looking down at the floor as if you didn’t even speak the same language.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in.” He shifted on his stance, and took a deep breath. “If you just let this be easy, we can get it over with. Maybe it can even be fun. Both of us can enjoy it, or neither of us can. That choice is yours.”

You...did not want that. Did they look at you like cattle? Something to breed for their needs, their weird desires? That was how you felt. Oh, hell no, that settled things within you very quickly. You had to go. You wouldn’t do that. As Jack stood there, looking at you and awaiting your decision, you stepped back from him.

“I’m not interested.”

“That is not part of the decision.”

“I don’t...I don’t want to be a part of this---”

With an abrupt movement that made you nervous, he pushed off the dresser.

“You were chosen because you fit the needs of the project. You have to be a part of it, whether you want to or not. So, like I said, you can either make it fun for both of us or just another job I have to do.”

“That’s...that’s fucked up,” you insisted with a stutter, and you meant that. “That’s really fucking weird.”

“It may be, but it’s how things are here. There’s a lot riding on this project. You should be grateful you get to be a part of it.”

“I should be grateful I’ve been kidnapped?” you added. How arrogant he sounded to you.

He gave a very distasteful glare, crossing his arms.

“You’ve had to worry about nothing for three days now, have you? All your needs have been cared for. When…we found you fit the...’project’, it was insisted that they make your stay...comfortable.”

Your mouth hung open as if to protest. Who was they? In thinking about what he said, they had waited on you as you’d been here. Food and water, or something resembling the two. Even nice soaps for baths and hygiene needs, which was surprising since the castle seemed unclean itself. But even if that were the case you did not want to be here. You didn’t want to be part of some weird ‘project’ to breed whatever the fuck he was talking about, and kidnapping was still kidnapping, no matter how well they treated you.

“I...Jack. I don’t want this.” Your resolve was leaving. You were suddenly quite tired, the bed a wonderful prospect.

He sighed, and cracked his shoulder as if to give him something else to focus on.

“Don’t make me do this,” he finally said, with a very despairing tone. He wasn’t going to stand there and continue to argue with you, you knew that, but you just...you didn’t want this. The weight of everything had came crashing down on you, and you found yourself backing up. Where would you go? Nowhere obviously, but you couldn’t stand the thought of knowing this man in such a way. Not like this. How had it came to this? How was this your life, now? How had they even determined that they wanted you for this?

“Jack…” This was basically begging. This was pathetic. You fucking hated every moment of whatever this had become. You still had questions, but you knew you weren’t getting answers.

“Are you going to comply or not? Stop wasting time and tell me.” He seemed to be begging in his own way, desperately wishing you to do as he wanted. Desperately hoping you’d not fight him further. But why did he care? He could probably make you do anything that he wanted.

Could you fight, at all? Could you try to win? Did he have a key? A thousand questions were in your mind, but he wasn’t waiting for you to consider them. Nothing he had said or done had even really put you at ease to consider knowing him in such a way, so what the fuck did he expect of you?

There was a very loud and obnoxious sound from outside the door, maybe up the hallway.

“What was that?” you questioned by instinct.

This made Jack tense, and his eyes finally left you and went to the door. There was silence for a moment, then it sounded like pure chaos with the clattering of metal and feet on the stone floor with screeches that were so painful to hear that you nearly covered your ears. You hesitantly stepped back a few feet and Jack gave you a look of pure irritation, but even you had a guess this had nothing to do with you. But what was it about? Were you in danger?

Jack closed his eyes and gave a deep and thoughtful sigh. He immediately walked by you, which made you step back, but he only gave a passing look as he went to a part of the room where much of the furniture had been grouped together. He leaned down, and after just a moment had the knife from before in his hand. That was where it had landed when he kicked it away. When he stood back up, he gave a jolt to his wrist, and the blade flipped in the air before landing neatly back in his hand. He then turned back to you and started to walk with intention, and the panic set in. If you were cattle, cattle could be slaughtered when they weren’t useful. Did you have to comply to live?

He stopped right in front of you, taller, bigger, and far more imposing, a beacon of strength and power. He had that damned look of pity, but you were certain of something else underneath it. His eyes betrayed whatever demeanor he was trying to show in that moment, but you didn’t have enough time to try and understand it between your own fear and the sounds from outside. He turned the knife’s handle around and held it out to you.

“Think about what I said. Not complying is not an option.”

You waited another moment before grasping the knife’s handle in a shaking hand, the blade out and facing him, but no urge to attack him following it.

“You might need this later. Just so you know, it won’t work on me, so don’t even think about it.” Which you had been doing of course, but you didn’t expect to follow through with those thoughts. At least, not at this point in your ordeal. “If anyone else tries to touch you, kill them. Don’t hesitate. I’ll deal with it. But kill them.”

You? Kill? While just moments ago you would have considered yourself ready for such a thing, witnessing this man had changed much of that. You were not some brutal machine capable of senseless violence, even against your own damn captor.

He gave one last glance to you before quickly pacing away from his spot in the room and going to the door. As he did this, you could hear a lock click and scrambling from outside before the door opened and a servant muttered something to him. Jack gave a stern, ‘alright’ that sounded far harsher than anything he had spoken to you. The servant then immediately turned to go up the hall, disappearing in sight and sound.

“Some advice.” He paused. “Don’t trust anyone else here. I’m the only one here worth trusting.” His blue eyes looked at you from the door before he closed it, the lock engaging and his footsteps echoing away with a slow pace, as if he couldn’t be bothered to worry about the sounds outside like the rest of the servants.

You were bubbling over with intrusive thoughts, still in awe at the entire exchange that had just happened. You stood with the knife out, to the air as if something might appear from it, but you knew that the adrenaline rush you felt was not going to last much longer. Letting the knife fall to your side, you let out a very heavy breath, as if you had been holding it the whole time. Your heart still beat with anxiety but the sounds of chaos were slowly dying away and now you were left with nothing but the fire as it ate away at the wood within it. What were you going to do?

As an idle thought, you went to the chalice that had the strange liquid within it. Looking into the small silver cup, a black substance sloshed within its walls when you picked it up. It smelled of copper, sharp and acrid, with a hint of what a sweet wine may smell like. It was not appetizing, and you were glad to not have to drink it yet. But the thought of Jack returning, of making you do as he had spoken, gave you a chill, and to escape the chill you went over to the fire. At least he had left you this, and there was an uncovered antique couch that seemed to be the perfect distance away from the flames. Not too hot, but close enough to let the warmth into your skin and body.

Of course you had a lot of questions. You had even more concerns. You would have to escape, and you would have to do it soon. You expected he might return that night, but he never did, likely far too occupied by whatever was happening outside your room. That concerned you too but there was nothing more you could do but sit and wait. Even as you sat on the couch by the fire, you kept the knife in your hand prepared for anything that could happen, but by the deep hours of the night you were beginning to feel exhausted. You had a bed, but the fire was much warmer as you continued to toss wood into it, and by some point, you had fallen asleep, but it was restless as the face of that man haunted you and your peace of mind.

Chapter Text

It had happened in such a quick, instantaneous moment that you weren’t even sure it was true. But now your feet carried you down the hallway outside your room, the soft patter of steps across the stone feeling far too loud in your ears. This was quickly drowned out by the beat of your heart, the rush of your breath, your body’s movements automatic as you came to the end of the hallway that housed your room. The hilt of your knife rested comfortably in your palms. Everything looked painfully similar in this place, dark, stone walls, cobbled with webs and dust and gaudy decorations and paintings. At the end of the hall were two directions you could go, and without spending the time to think, you dashed left. Surely, somewhere would take you out of here.

There was yelling, loud and full of anger, echoing behind you as if the sounds themselves chased you. Your feet carried you faster, you didn’t dare to look back. The halls were spidering out in all directions, each one looking the same as the last. Had you not just come this way? No, the painting on the wall was different than before. But then where had you just been? You stood at an intersection, your breath rapid in your chest as you looked at all the possible directions. Where the hell was a way out?

Footsteps were behind you, far too close to just be their echoes. You looked back. Two servants, looking identical in their eyes and robes, were running up the hall towards you. You gave an instinctual gasp of fear and turned to your right, up yet another hall. By this point, your adrenaline had began to dwindle, the effort of your heart and veins wearing down as the fear of your situation hit you. Another turn. Dead end. This was a dead end, and you looked up to the grand wall wondering why it was even here, a huge thing filled with shelves of taxidermy, mouths and eyes open in permanent terror of their final moments. You could see yourself in them, and then you turned to try and escape, only to now blocked by those two servants.

Your knife reared. The two servants slowed, muttering to themselves, both spacing themselves enough that running past them would be difficult. You backed up until the jagged edges of the shelving grabbed at your robe. One of the servants gave a loud shout, calling for more, and you knew you needed to act now if you had any hope of this plan succeeding.

Closer, each step they made, you tried to catch your shaking breath. You didn’t want to kill them, but you convinced yourself they were part of your kidnapping. They had to be, chasing you like you were some prey, cornering you. They knew what they were doing, and did not deserve mercy. Your eyes turned to angry slivers against the dim lighting of the walls. You had to wait until they were upon you, they’d expect you to move first. And you did wait, the knife up by your face with the blade facing them, a glint against the candles upon the walls.

Only a couple meters in front of you, your muscles tensed under your robe, your body stiff and anxious. The servants had such an ugly look to them, like ghosts, pale, dirty skin with torn robes upon them as shrouds of death. If you didn’t hesitate, that would befit them, and the moment you could see directly into their eyes, both of their arms out and ready to lunge, you made your attack. A few swipes of the blade, you did hesitate, a distraction more than anything, and you slid right underneath their arms as they flailed to block the knife and and to stop you. This had worked far better than you had anticipated, and now you were free to go back to the intersection. To the left you could see more servants running in a stampede down the hall. You didn’t wait, banking right, aware of blood splattering from the knife onto you and your clothes but disinterested in it for the time being.

Your body wasn’t going to do this much longer. You could feel the burn of your legs, your heart thumping against your ribcage in hopes of escape, and no amount of breaths enough to satiate your lungs. You would have to take a break and very soon. As you came upon another corridor, the end of it looked tempting. That was outside of some sort, you could just tell, you could feel it by the style of the door, and without trying to judge if it were the right decision, you ran, greeting the large wooden door with the last bit of your strength to fully open it. Cold, frigid air rushed in, and you knew you had been right.

However, you were dismayed to see this was a courtyard, entrapped by large walls on all side, decorated with hedges and plants and strange looking architecture. Stars and clouds above taunted you. You let out a frustrated sigh, but this was an improvement after days locked up in your room. You stole as much of the fresh air as you could, your body relishing in the chance to rest. Then, you made abrupt work to close the door behind you, hoping to offer no signs you were here. This could be a temporary respite until you found the real way out. Eyes looking up to the walls, maybe if you felt like taking a risk, you could try to climb up and get a better view of castle’s layout. You had a chance out here.

At least, you told yourself that. Walking to the center of the hedges, you kept your knife to your chest as if you would have the reflexes to attack anything that even dared to look towards you. You were trying to gather and understand this small courtyard, doors, windows if any might betray your position, and ways to possibly climb the walls. In one of the corners seemed to be some old latticework decoration, made of metal but metal so thin that it felt like it would crumble if you breathed on it wrong. Vines and plants intertwined with the decoration. You would consider it an option, but possibly the last one.

A rustling emanated from nearby, so faint you could’ve missed it had your nerves not been on such an edge. Your eyes widened and you crouched down near the latticework, shooting glances around the shrubbery that surrounded you. Maybe you’d do well to hide in one of the bushes, until enough time passed that they thought you were somewhere else. This plan seemed a good one until a very disturbing sound hit your senses. A snarl, deep, rumbling and from the throat, something inhuman and something angry. You felt your muscles bunch and your knife was ready.

From one of the corners appeared a figure, low to the ground and obscured by darkness. You tried to make it out and gave a suspicious squint. It looked something like a dog, with the same gate and build, even the snarl reminded you of such. But as the light of the moon caught its face, you were made aware of an uncomfortable amount of teeth from its jaw alongside the horrid look of its skin. It was flaky and appeared to have been dried like it were left near a fire for too long. It twice barred its teeth to you, a strange mixture of blood and spit dripping down its maw and white, clouded eyes permanently forced open and aimed at you. You wanted to yelp, but nothing came out except a small whisper as you felt fear rise within you. This thing would easily kill you, and you weren’t so arrogant as to deny that, but was it dangerous?

Of course it’s dangerous, you chastised to yourself. It was not a normal dog.

Your knife raised as its mangled paws stepped closer to you. You surely couldn’t out run it, so fighting it or wounding it enough until you could run was your only viable option. You couldn’t find a comfortable position that made you feel safe as it came closer, the stench of rotting flesh now destroying your sense of certainty. So you stood up, to the wall of the courtyard, awaiting the second that would come where you’d have to fight this strange creature.

It gave another vicious snarl, tongue licking over yellowed teeth, before you saw its head raise and its body leap. You held up the knife, pointed directly at this thing, but there was never the force of it against the blade. You weren’t really sure where it came from, but you were very aware of the view of a blade driving directly into the skull of the dog, the thing yelping in distressing pain as it began to flail on the ground in front of you. Its voice began to quiet into whimpers until the violent thrashing turned to convulses and then to nothing. It lay dead at your feet with blood dripping out of the knife wound and mouth, pooling below it. You backed away slowly and without certainty.

Then there he was, the man named Jack. You had no idea where he had been stationed but he seemed to drop from the wall of the courtyard without struggle. His outfit was slightly different than before, but it was him, and he only gave you an irritated glance with cold, blue eyes as he stepped over to the corpse of the dog, ripping his knife from its skull without any resistance. The imagery shocked you, a tiny gasp flitting through your teeth, and you brought up your own knife while he lazily turned to face you.

“What are you doing out here?” he questioned, and while his face showed little emotion his voice was full of irritation.

You didn’t offer him an answer, defensively with your knife, feeling that he were more dangerous than the now dead dog. Your eyes turned to bothered slits as you observed him.

He gave a quick exhale that seemed a mocking laugh of sort.

“What do you think you can do with that? I already told you it won’t hurt me.” He softly inhaled with an expression of disdain. “You can’t hurt me.”

“But I’ll try,” you nervously responded, trying desperately to hide the shake of your voice. Adrenaline coursed through your body and your heart felt weak.

He seemed to have a smile on his expression, a look of entertainment on his face, but you also knew he was mocking your actions. Then he lifted his knife in his hand, blade towards you, dripping with the blood of the dog and decorating the concrete below.

“Then try,” he taunted.

Any sort of reply you wanted to have caught in your throat. You didn’t necessarily want to fight him, but you did want to escape, and since he had an obvious hand in your captivity, you would hurt him if need be to ensure that. Or...you would try, just as you stated. But standing now in front of him the size and power difference was painfully obvious to you.

He didn’t have any more words for you in that moment, a look of amusement on his expression as he waited for you to make the first move. Did you want to really make any sort of move? If you did hurt him, what repercussions would there be? As you hesitated at these tormenting thoughts, he had moved. You’d been so distracted that you hadn’t bothered to even notice, but within just a few short breaths, there was a knife to your throat, the cold blade hesitating above your flesh. You hadn’t even moved, your knife still in your hand as if you might do anything, hand shaking with the slightest hint of fear.

“Hesitating will get you killed,” he said. He didn’t sound arrogant, nor even mad, but the way in which he stated this was just matter-of-fact. The knife left your throat. “If you intend to attack, then do it.”

A very strange burst of irritation found its way in your head and you took to his advice, swinging the knife towards his arm that had just lowered. This was nothing but an inconvenience to him as his wrist deflected the move, making you stumble beside him with the knife dropping to the ground. It lay next to the pool of dog’s blood with the blade pointed towards you. Your eyes starred at it with disbelief in just how quickly he had moved.

“And don’t try to attack something you know is stronger than you.” The way these words came out had a hint of a mocking tone, and your brow furrowed with anger. With a swipe of the tiles you took the knife from the ground and reared your arm, turning to him in a smooth movement with the blade’s point aiming for whatever it might hit. He had an amused glint to his eyes and with another simple strafe of your wrist, you missed him, stumbling yet prepared enough that you gave a third hit, aiming for the outer part of his thigh.

At this, you could hear him laugh. What was it? Amusement? It wasn’t fear, he didn’t fear you for even a moment. This was certainly aimed at just how terribly you fought him, just how weak you were. He had even said it. He thought – no, he knew – that he was stronger than you. And as the knife nearly contacted his leg, the air around you seeming slow and still and cold, your muscles pumped with adrenaline, he lifted his knee just enough that it made contact with the bottom of your sternum, and by hell did it hurt. Your lungs exhaled air like it were about to explode, your body doubled to the ground to your knees. The knife dropped next to you, but you weren’t interested in it. You could only really let yourself focus on the throb of pain your torso felt as you held yourself with your arms.

He didn’t give you any mockery or amusing commentary. The two of you stayed in that moment, surrounded by the quiet walls of the courtyard and the herd of clouds above with your mind flustered with your failures while his was surely filled with his success. Then, you saw his hand by the side of your head, reaching out, offering itself to help you up. With a grit of your teeth, you hit him away, ensuring he saw you stand of your own power. The pain from his knee still ached in your chest and stomach but it was lessening, dulling to something tolerable, and you managed to stand to full height, glaring at him with what you hoped he could see was nothing but hatred. His eyes were back to something unreadable. He didn’t have a smug look of pride. He didn’t even appear happy, only intense eyes starring you down.

“This place isn’t safe to be running around in. That thing,” he pointed to the corpse of the dog, “is just one of many things that will kill you here, but it’s not even the worst of them.”

You nervously let your eyes wander over the corpse of the dog. You had been thinking of it as a dog in your mind but upon looking at it, unmoving, it seemed only partially that. The shape was dog, but other parts of it were nothing short of being called monstrous. So disturbed by it, you looked back to Jack.

“If you don’t want to die, then listen to me when I tell you these things. I know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t want to die!” you blurted, holding out your hands, eyes wide and full of a shaking hatred. “I just don’t want to be here! That’s not that hard to understand!”

“I know you don’t,” he retorted, his eyes turning to slits. He spoke the next part coldly. “But you don’t have a choice.”

“Obviously! Or I wouldn’t be here!”

This shift in his tone was abrupt and yet so subtle that you nearly missed it, too occupied by your own impatience. He had taken just two steps towards you and his eyes were down, the scar doing very little to hide the irritability he had. You felt yourself shrink back from him, the indignation turning to fear in an instance as quickly as he had turned angry. You were far too close to him for comfort, painfully aware of just how much larger he was compared to you, how aware of how stupid it had been to try and fight him. His knife was still in his hand.

“There’s a lot at stake here. I’ve fought for a long time to get this project moving. You were chosen specifically to be a part of it, and I’m not going to let it get ruined because you won’t follow orders.”

“Orders?” You had found the bravery to at least argue against that. A cold wind billowed down from the top of the walls and you weakly shivered.

“Yes. Orders.” He seemed to realize he was uncomfortably close to you and relaxed his figure. “Don’t pull this stunt again. I was here tonight but I might not be the next time, and nobody else is going to save you.”

After a few moments of silence, he sheathed his knife, fitting in its spot at his chest. Walking beside you, he picked up your own knife, observing the blade in the dim light. You only gave him a stare that was wearing down to bare exhaustion. He then turned the knife to its handle and offered it to you.

“You’re still letting me have that?” you asked after staring at it in tired disbelief.

“Maybe now you’ll believe me when I say it can’t hurt me. It can’t hurt most of the dangerous things here.”

Most of the dangerous things? Was he implying he was dangerous? You actually weren’t sure why you had even questioned that thought because you knew that he was. He knew it. Anyone could see that.

You then took the knife without further hesitation, feeling a wave of confidence wash over you as its weight pressed on your hand. The adrenaline that had surged in your veins was now dissipating into the cold night. This was all you had that made you feel capable, safe, and protected, regardless of what Jack tried to claim. He wasn’t offering you any protection services. He was part of your problem, and as you watched him now observe the courtyard for something unknown, you questioned just how much, to what degree. The servants obviously knew you were to be kept here, they chased you. But who else?

“We’re going,” he plainly stated. “Let’s move.”

Not that you had much of a chance, but you really didn’t have the desire to listen to him. Your eyes darted around the tops of the courtyard, greedy for the stars and freedom that rested beyond them, trees and grass that you yearned to have beneath your feet. You didn’t want to be back in that room, caged and stifled of your freedom, awaiting whatever horrors this place prepared for you. But as you hesitated, Jack, who had only taken but a few steps away, turned and gave you a very disapproving glare.

“We’re going,” he now commanded, and you knew there was no option. But that hesitation, brewing beneath your mind as you could almost taste the freedom outside the walls, you now felt sadness haze over your adrenaline and anger, clouding both feelings. You didn’t want to go back. Your eyes were down to the ground in a mixture of fear and shame. A sudden and quiet sigh betrayed his stoic demeanor, and then he was coming towards you. You tried to press back but where obstructed by the latticework of the wall, rusted bits of it clinging to your robe.

Jack didn’t say anything when he came to you, but he knelt down, took your knife so quickly you didn’t have time to argue and lifted you by your sides as if you weighed nothing. You surely let a quiet yelp escape. With a shift to assure you were steady, he had you over his shoulder, and he turned down the courtyard as he carried you away from the night air. You could watch it, see the outside world, still taste the hint of the sweet scent of the forest, but these sensations quickly disappeared when he entered the exact door in which you had escaped.

You were carried for some time, through the maze of halls of which none looked familiar, until you came into a small, elegant sitting room – the nicest looking room you’d seen in the entire place. It had paintings and decorations and, a bit more disconcertingly, lots of taxidermy, but that was maybe normal for the place based on your small glimpse of it as you had ran. Sitting on a very well decorated couch of fabric was the strangest looking individual you had ever witnessed. He was almost like a child but his skin appeared aged beyond his years, gray hair in loose strands around his face but looking large and well-done behind his head. Underneath his pale skin were concerning black veins disappearing underneath an outfit that would befit a noble maybe two hundred years ago, blue, gold and with yellowed frills at the collar. The rotten little man looking horribly bored as he flipped through the dusty pages of a book. When he saw Jack drop you onto the ground – to your knees – he smiled with darkened teeth. His smiles disturbed you.

“Ah, you have succeeded as you always do, Mr. Krauser! Impeccable work!”

Jack’s hand was at the back of your neck, presenting you to this man in an embarrassing fashion. You felt yourself writhe as if to escape this, protest seeking escape from your voice, but he grasped harder and gave a guttural growl of be quiet to you. Without further argument, you obliged. You knew Jack was angered, as this didn’t seem like a move he would have done otherwise, but you had far more right for this. But you said nothing, looking down to the floor in shame.

“My dear princess, what ever gave you the thought you could leave these walls?” the small man questioned, getting up from his seat and walking over to you with lazy steps as if he might break out into a dance. “You are of this castle and Lord Saddler. This is where you belong, and this is where you will stay.”

He placed a cold hand to your cheek, and you hated the sharp feeling and look of it. It was the first touch you had been given that wasn’t from Jack, and it repulsed you. And as you looked up to this man in light only slightly brighter than that of your room, you saw how utterly strange the man looked up close. Small in stature, with skin far too aged for what he sounded, and a wild, evil glimpse to his blood shot eyes. He repulsed you. Who was he?

“Do see she makes back to her room. The ritual will begin any day now. You do understand, Mr. Krauser...yes?” he quipped, turning away from you and looking up towards one of the paintings in the room as if he were viewing one in a shop, like he might tell the owner he would take it post haste.

“Yes,” Jack stated plainly.

“Of course you do!” The man thew up his arms and crookedly smiled to Jack. “You are our most loyal servant, after all.” His arms went down and he then gave a dismissive wave before his arms crossed behind him. “Now go. I must go let Saddler know that one of our many problems has been taken care of.”

Jack again lifted you in the same shameful way before without further word and carried you out of the room. In a move of mockery, the small man looked over to you as you were on Jack’s shoulder, and he cast a little wave before you went out of the door. That infuriated you, but you didn’t really have the power to do anything back. Not anymore. The power of control, you longed for it, the chains of this place temporarily unshackled as you had walked under your own strength towards potential liberty.

There was a stillness in the halls as he carried you, the chaos of your escape now seeming true and far behind you. What would happen after this? Likely nothing, you told yourself, because you were ‘needed’ for whatever the hell they wanted to do. That gave you a small blanket of security, but not enough that you didn’t fear potential punishment. Like one might enact on a small child, one that wouldn’t harm them but would make them feel far less in charge.

“How did you escape?” Jack asked while he walked.

Your arms were crossed over his back and the neat gray shirt he word, and your eyes nervously glanced down at the tiles of the floor as they passed by. It’d be nice to walk on your own, but you knew that privileged wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. You didn't want to answer him, but you relented.

“I was faster than the servant. That’s all,” you replied.

You thought you heard him chuckle.

“That’s not hard to do,” he replied. “But I’ll give you commendation for doing it.”

What? was the only thought that crossed your mind. You passed by a window, moonlight racing over the two of you, before it was again nearly dark. What commendation? For trying to escape?

Jack took a turn down a hall, and you were starting to feel like this wasn’t taking you back to your room. You didn’t know the halls exceptionally well, but you had a feeling of where your ‘home’ was, and this was not the way. You lifted up on his shoulder enough to try and grasp a bearing of the walls, but nothing really helped you gather a frame of reference. More turns. Something felt strange, a hint of iron in the air, sharp and acrid. Where was he taking you?

You weren’t going to ask him.

Finally he stopped and set your feet down onto the floor. He was a bit rough as one of his hands grasped the back of your neck, the other facing you to look out a large window that towered over a series of walkways outside. At first, you could see nothing, and you weren’t sure what was happening or what he wished to show you, only aware of the bit of fear that twinged in your mind. It had never left from the courtyard.

Jack wasn’t saying anything to ease you, but after a moment of waiting, you saw what he wanted you to see. Horrific creatures unlike anything you’d ever witnessed, insect-like, dark and chittering with twitching groups of legs. They were crawling over the walkways, beady eyes pulsing in their sockets as they searched over the walls and ground, wings sometimes flicking underneath their carapaces. You recoiled, on instinct, back into Jack’s torso, repulsed by what you saw. What were those creatures, so inhuman and unlike anything you knew? Giant insects?

One caught sight of something unknown to you in the distance, and with a piercing screech, it lifted into the air, the buzz of its wings audible to you in the small room. Soon, the rest of the bugs followed, and the drone of their wings and the obvious convulsions of their bodies was too much for you. You closed your eyes, certain your stomach was churning at their sudden image.

“That’s only one of the things that live in these walls. There’s more that I can’t safely show you.” He let go of your neck, but you didn’t move from him, the warmth of his torso on your back about the only safety you felt in that moment.

“This place isn’t safe,” he continued. “These things don’t always know who belongs and who doesn’t. I’ve seen them attack their own kind.” He gave a laugh of nerves. “They’ve tried to attack me.”

Of course you had more questions brewing in your mind, at this point, they were mixed into a sour concoction, ready to boil over in the kettle of your thoughts. All you had were questions. But you simply ignored them. What was this awful place? It felt like hell on earth, one of which you were never going to escape. The desire of freedom was still present, but the path to it was unclear.

“Just take me back to my room,” you solemnly conceited, and Jack started walking without saying anything else. He was letting you walk, though you were sure that if you had tried to run – not that you wanted to now – he would catch you.

You weren’t going to try an escape again. Not now. Not for a bit. But your resolve was thin, waning, stretched to a measly hair-length that you weren’t sure was going to hold much more.

You both finally reached your room. You could’ve been smart and tried to map the halls as you both walked, but exhaustion crept up on you and didn’t think it would do any good once you mulled the idea over. You thought Jack would leave, but as you stepped inside to the familiar musky darkness, he followed you, and this made you nervous. What more did he possibly want from you?

Standing in the room, the moon peaking just through the glass of the window, Jack and you seemed at odds, but you weren’t really sure what to say. Was he going to reprimand you about how stupid you had been trying to escape, half-naked practically? Berate you? You stood awkwardly a few meters back from him, your head low, before you finally had the courage to say something.

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” You weren’t sure if that was his problem, but it was the first thing you thought to say. Did he expect you to apologize? Or where you just feeling guilty for your own actions? Guilty? you thought. For what? For wanting to be free of your kidnappers?

“It’s not,” he replied with a stale tone, splitting you from your spiral of thoughts.

“Then what do you want?” You asked this rigidly. "Stop...staring at me and just leave me alone." You gave a quick exhale from your nose and nervously laughed. "I'm not going to try and escape again."

He appeared to be at a loss for words as he surveyed you. In the soft light, you could see the glint of his knife handle, neatly in its sheath at his chest. You hadn’t noticed before now, but he was in some sort of tactical gear, as if he were a solider of a type. Maybe you could’ve asked him about all the gear, but you didn’t have the energy. Instead, you stepped back towards your bed ready to rest, but at its edge, you ran your hands over your face and groaned, sinking down to the cold floor, where the light from the window wouldn’t reach you. While you hadn’t quiet accepted this place as your new home, the strange realization of the situation began to melt away the strength you’d been trying to maintain. The bugs. The dog. Everything you had witnessed. You wanted to go home.

The heavy steps of boots resonated in the room and you felt your muscles tense. Then he was next to you, arms crossed. You didn’t bother to look up to him, only casting a side look to his legs before turning your head back down to the floor that you sat upon. It was just the two of you, in silence, in that moment, as you tried to calm your thoughts. Then, the anger found its way back through the cracks of your reserve, and you didn’t want his presence besides you. It was amusing, even to you now, how unstable your emotions had become.

“What do you want?” you again asked, clutching your head in your hands. Then, you noticed the handle of the knife in your peripheral vision, having forgotten he had taken it from you. Looking up to it, you didn’t hesitate, appreciating its familiarity in your hand. You swayed from idly examining the floor to instead perusing the blade of the knife as if it had anything of new interest to you.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” When he said this, you cast a panicked glance up to him as he didn’t bother returning it, already going towards the door to your room.

“Why?” you asked.

“You already know,” he remarked, brushing the comment away.

“Why?” you repeated, now standing, eyes upon him like you might be stalking him.

“You know why.” The words dripped with authority, but you weren’t going to respect them.

The flare of anger again came out yet again, your emotions unstable and volatile. Feeling sturdy in the palm of your hand, the knife rose towards him in threat.

“I won’t let you touch me,” you swore irately, but even as you said those words, you knew they were empty, without a real threat.

“You already know you can’t hurt me, sweetheart.” He was standing near the door and looked down at you, his scarred expression threatening. Then, he added, “but you’re welcome to try.” A scorned smile crossed him. “Again.”

It was that final word that made you stand down, the fresh memory of the courtyard playing behind your expression. How pathetically you stood there, nearly bare, a knife in your hand as f it were simply a toy. He hadn’t had any fear of you, the interaction more like a nuisance to him in his busy day than anything of noteworthiness. You knew how absolutely and absurdly foolish the entire interaction had been, but your anger had fooled you into thinking you had any chance of victory over this situation. Over him.

When he could see you were stepping down from the challenge, his expression returned to its stoic nature. You were certain a quick chuff of a laugh escaped him.

“Good girl,” you heard him murmur to himself, two words, two simple words, that made you brutally aware of just how disrespected you felt in this place. But you weren’t going to challenge him further tonight, the ache of the ordeal seeping into your muscles.

He said nothing more to you, not even another parting glance, leaving you to the near darkness of the room as you heard the locks on the door click. And still you stood with the knife out as if you were really going to do anything with it, anything further than the worthless attempts you had made with it earlier. What had happened to the servants that you had attacked? Was there retribution for that? Would they seek you out in revenge? Now that Jack was no longer here to keep you from your own thoughts, they began to flood you, and as your body calmed from the interaction, you lowered the knife and turned to your bed. As you sat upon it, you placed the knife in your lap and simply blinked away the shadows of the room, sparsely decorated by the moon’s overarching glow.

You had 24 hours to come to terms with this place. It didn’t feel like enough. You knew that it wasn’t enough. But it was all that you had. How would that unfold? Would you fight him? Yes, you wouldn’t let him touch you if you could help it, though your confidence with this was despairingly low given how you had been humiliated in the courtyard. Besides this, you had the burning question of who was the strange man. He obviously had say over this place in some regard given Jack had taken you to him almost immediately. Would you see more of him?

You could’ve spent the entire evening pondering over unanswered questions but you relented yourself to finally trying to sleep after an hour or so of this. Tomorrow would be a big day, and you wanted to have the energy for it.

Aside from the energy, you hoped you had the strength. The strength to stop whatever it was, and if not that, then the strength to overcome the burden it would place upon you.

Chapter Text

Quietly, you waited in the corner of your room, feeling trapped by the walls. The sun had set and you had only the darkness of the room to keep you company, though it was sometimes seated with the overwhelming sense of anxiety as you awaited the sound of footsteps up the hallway. Him. Jack. You had been told – no, warned - that he would be back, and you knew exactly the reason. Everything, leading back to the entire purpose of why you had been forced here.

Your eyes were blinking away the darkness, sometimes staring down at the floor or walls, but often darting right back to the door in preparation of it opening. Although the room was in the dark, you found your eyes had adjusted well and you had no trouble in making out the shape of the door. Uneven, old and barely a good fit in the stone foundation. It looked like it would give under any force, but you had tried more than enough times to know you weren’t going to break it down. You had barely even broken a splinter off when you tired of it.

You wished you had maybe tried just a little harder as the anticipation of the evening weighed upon your shoulders. Hell, you wished you had even bothered to succeed in escaping the night before, but you couldn’t even manage that correctly. And in this moment it was you, the dark shadows of your room and the knife’s handle that felt firm in your hand. You were certain you wouldn’t dare to use it on him if he entered the room, but you had a desire to show him the strength that had kept you sane this far into your captivity. To the very dirty, bitter end, you would fight for yourself, you would fight him, you would fight anyone who seemed complacent in your current situation.

Footsteps, in the hall, that sounded loud, but you were certain you were more sensitive to them now. Your body went stiff, your hand clasped the handle of the knife as if it would leap from you. The steps were slow and steady. It wasn’t a servant, it was him. You tried to play what you might do in your head. Would you attack him? Was that something you had the courage to do? You felt the blade’s sturdy weight in your hand and rubbed your thumb along the hilt. Something hesitated in your mind as you tried to imagine the tip of it in his body. You were sure that you wouldn’t have the heart to do it, even if he - - -

The door was opening. It was only a few seconds but it felt like an eternity, the sound of its hinges squealing into the quiet room, the light of the hallway now pouring into the room’s shadows. You caught your breath in your throat as it raged against you, the blade of the knife tucked neatly by your knee while you watched from the corner, obscured by aged furniture. He would find you, you had no doubt about that, but this gave you just enough time to figure a plan, to mentally prepare yourself, to do anything that wasn’t just sitting and waiting for him. You refused to feel helpless to him and to this entire situation, and as you gripped the blade tighter, it was your source of strength for that mindset.

Far quieter than it opened, the door closed, returning the room back to the darkness that, before, you hated, but now, felt like comfort. A ray of the moon cast in from the window, not far from where the bed rested against the wall, but other than that, the room was nothing but formless shapes of shadows. Jack was one of those shapes, against the door still, unmoving, but you were aware of his presence, if unable to properly see him. The air in the room was shifting, it felt more stale and stiff as you breathed, or perhaps, you simply felt more anxious at his presence.

You heard him sigh, a quiet breath that escaped him. Your back was flat against the wall as you managed a defensive position.

“Let’s talk about this,” he requested. You didn’t quite feel like answering him immediately but after a moment, your nerves found themselves willing to engage him, even though they had a paralyzing fear beneath them.

“About what?” you called back to him. He didn’t move from the door and didn’t even seem to turn his heard towards you. He likely already knew where you were, and you felt sure of that.

“About why this needs to happen.” The way he said this was uncomfortable, and you shook your head as if he could see.

“I don’t care why.”

“You should,” he interrupted, and he started to take steps towards you.

“Don’t touch me!” The words were instinctual but you spat them none the less. He continued towards you, but then replied,

“I’m not going to. Yet.” That additional word made you irritated, but you didn’t reply, knowing full well the tiny room was more of a cage than anything else, and if he had a desire to do anything, it would not offer much protection. So you simply stayed in your corner as the sounds of his boots became louder. As you had guessed, he knew exactly where you were, and while you wanted to question how, he didn’t give you a moment.

When he arrive to your cowering figure, he crossed his arms as if disinterested, but his gaze was blatantly taking you in. Hiding in the corner of the dark room, obscured from the light, as if you were just a scared little animal in the corner of its enclosure. Did he view you with pity, entertainment? Disinterest? Another passing attraction in this place?

“What’s the most important thing to you?” he began.

“Leaving this place,” you replied without hesitation. The stone walls felt cold against your back.

“I need a real answer. The truth. Before any of this. What did you want to do with your life?”

“I…” you began, but you let the sound trail away as you felt you mind try to ponder his question. What had been the most important thing to you? What had been your goal in life before you’d been whisked away to a strange and decrepit castle? Your hands felt at the stones behind you for an idle habit, your fingers tracing them as your mind ruminated over itself. Had you any goals? Any desires? You worked. You had some schooling. But where was it all going to go after?

“...Maybe to be happy?” you finally replied to him, though the reply was unsatisfactory to you.

“But what would make you happy?”

You had opened your mouth to reply, but you couldn’t get out the words before he continued.

“You hear the same answers when asked that question. Money. Power. Sex.” He thoughtfully turned his head to the side, and the hint of moon from the window crossed just half his face. His scar was visible, as were blue eyes full of pondering. “Most people want one of those three things, if not all three.”

“And what? Sex is yours?” you theorized rudely. You wished he could see the anger in your eyes. What a stupid question this had been.

“No more than the next man,” he deferred. “But power? Power is worth more than money or sex. Power rules above anything and everything.”

“Does it?” you asked. You were no longer crouching, as if the conversation had brought you out of your stupor of fear. He was a man of intrigue if he were anything to you, though you could think of many more words to describe him if depending on the mood.

“You tell me. Who seems the happiest in life? Money and sex always come with power, but power doesn’t always come with the others. There’s not a man in power who doesn’t get what he wants.”

“And what if he wants more power?” you expressed, an honest question that jumped from the depths of your mind so quickly that it even took you off your guard.

“Then he has it,” Jack replied dryly.

“Alright, fine. When does the power stop?”

“When a man wants it to. When you’re in power, it’s your call.”

You let out a sigh of frustration and shrugged with an obvious air of irritation.

“So you’re hungry for power. What does that have to do with me?”

“More than you could understand tonight,” he replied, and he said it casually, without a hint of malice or a condescending tone. It made you hesitate in any snarky response, because he felt genuine.

“Can you...try and help me to understand?”

At this request, he stepped away from the spot where he had stood and moved closer to you. You pressed back towards the wall again, the sound of anger singing in your mind again.

“Would you not want power? Unchallenged, raw, and respected.”

“But what does that have to do with me?”

The expression upon him seemed softer than any other time you’d noticed him, and he took his gaze from you and turned to go towards the fireplace. He began to meddle with the wood, tossing chunks into the soot-filled pit, leaving you to stand and simply stare while he considered his next words. They weighed on him, you could tell, and then he spoke them carefully.

“You have the ability to give me some of the power I want.”

You thought about those, and then asked him, “...but only some?”

“Any more I want, I have to work for myself.” There was a click of the lighter, sparks dressing the darkness in light for a brief moment, and then they caught upon the dry wood until the room had the familiar warmth of flame. You hadn’t even noticed just how chilly you felt. Maybe you were becoming used to it.

Standing from the fire, the glow enveloping him just as it did the room, you couldn’t find the proper way to reply. Power wasn’t necessarily something you’d thought about beyond what you felt was normal. Everyone wanted more power over their lives, but few ever took that beyond such a small scope. As Jack turned towards you, the fire made his expression something that instilled fear within you. It was deep, thoughtful, as if there were more to this than he wanted to say. But as his steps again came towards you, a purpose, you shook your head and clenched your hands.

“I don’t see why I should just give you power,” you quickly stated. This made him stop moving, but that hard look of indifference changed to something with a little less patience.

“Because any power I have here isn’t just mine. It gives you the power to stay safe.”

“I don’t care, I’ve told you,” you insisted as you brought the knife up. It wasn’t necessarily aimed towards him but the threat was made. It didn’t move him. “I’ll hurt you if you touch me.”

“You can’t,” he simply answered. “But if you won’t willingly help me, if you insist on putting yourself in danger,” he began, and within a moment of you blinking, a trembling hand grasping at the knife for all it was worth, he had disappeared from his spot and seemed to reappear to the left of your vision. Your hand with the knife swung without hesitation, just as he had instructed, but it never made contact. The flesh of his palm had grasped your wrist, and while he didn’t squeeze it to the point of immense pain, the grip was tightening until the knife dropped to the ground with a sad thud.

“I won’t be used!”

“I’m not using you. I’m helping both of us.”

“You’re only helping yourself!”

He knelt down and wrapped his arms around your torso, lifting you above his shoulder. With all the strength you could manage you writhed underneath him, but when you were certain he wouldn’t just drop you, you let your nails dig in to the flesh of his neck and shoulder. Underneath the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the skin giving, you could see the blood poke through as he carried you by the fire, and you understood the rising panic that burned just as intensely as that fire.

If he even noticed the injuries, he didn’t seem bothered by them, as when he reached your bed he laid you upon it far gentler than you’d expected. There wasn’t any hesitation when he climbed atop you, though you attempted to kick at him just once as one of his hands held on to your legs.

“This is the only way to keep you safe. They’ll kill you otherwise!” He repeated the same mantra of keeping you safe, adding in a ‘they’ that would be a threat to you. But he was the threat in this very moment – anyone in this decrepit place was a threat – and he would get no better treatment than them.

At that moment of struggling, both his hands took hold of your wrists and placed them above your head on either side. He didn’t do anything after this, as if just weighing your struggle against him above your torso. This struggle didn’t last long simply because you were already exhausted long before he had came into the room, both mentally and physically. Even if you weren’t, there was no doubting his strength was superior to your own. Had he wanted to simply kill you, it would have been an easy feat.

But in this moment, he simply held himself up over you, your legs straddling his torso with his hands firmly grasped on your wrists. There was no way to escape this, and while you thought to make it as hard as possible for him to get what he wanted, you felt too tired to do so. This was what you had dreaded for days, this was what had instilled so much fear. And now it was here, and you had no care left.

When he realized you had stopped the fight against him, he released your wrists, leveraging himself above you.

“That helpless feeling you have right now...I know what it’s like. But I don’t hold it against you.”

That statement was enough to completely freeze you. What was that supposed to mean? It felt out of place to what was happening, it didn’t belong just as yourself. But he took this time, your stupor, to continue, and said nothing more.

His hands, a bit calloused, were now underneath the sewn robe, lifting it to just below your breasts. He had some form of decency to him, but it was not enough to change your mind about him.

You gave one kick of your leg as if you could really stop it at this point but he didn’t even bother restraining it. You just felt one of his hands grasp tighter at your hips, a subtle but sufficient reminder of his ability to make you do as he pleased.

What felt confusing was that his fingers had been placed between your legs during the short burst. You felt yourself hesitate just from the sheer confusion of the feeling. He pulled them back quickly enough to run them over his tongue.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he quietly, yet abruptly, stated as if he could recognize your confusion.

“Too late for that,” you quipped with quiet anger. The last word of that sentence faded into a heavy breath when two of his fingers slid into you. The fit was tight at first and you tensed your thighs around his hand, your arms crossed over your chest now that your wrists were freed. You didn’t consider trying to stop him by this point, beyond aware that there was nothing else to be done to avoid him – or this. But even with the amount of disdain you had for the position, for the power he was trying to place over you – that power he claimed to want so dearly – you had a difficult time mustering up the hatred of him.

What was worst of all was the feeling of pleasure that undeniably began to ebb with his movements. You had expected he’d simply just do what he needed and move on, there was no reason to expect otherwise, but his expression seemed trained on your own. Your arms tensed beneath themselves as you kept them crossed over your face to keep from looking at him. You didn’t want him to see you, to see the weakness that had fallen from you the moment his rough hands touched you. You shouldn’t have fallen into them with such ease, but now as he rhythmically thrust them, You felt true weakness.

Did he notice? Did he judge you for this obvious enjoyment when you had fought with so much fury before? These thoughts were but flickers of light in the darkness of everything, and you did not focus on them very much, too focused on taking in his treatment of you.

How you’d begged him not to do this and yet your body didn’t want him to stop as you were tensing. The shame found its way with the pleasure. Unfortunately to that feeling, after you had guessed he felt her had prepared you enough, he slid his fingers out of you. For just a moment, he looked them over, and they were blatantly wet. This was enough for him, and he shifted just so that his form was between your legs. With a very quick one-handed motion, his belt was off, and he held it in the air for just a moment as if he had intentions for it. What, restrain you? That would have been mockery. Then, he tossed it to the side, his free hand now working at his pants. You couldn’t see too well in the dim light, but you didn’t really want to, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, simply waiting with grit teeth and anger.

You didn’t expect the actual experience to be bad. It wasn’t even that you dreaded the thought of knowing him in such a way. Even if he had scars, even if he seemed weathered, this man was not unattractive. Maybe this was just the remnants of the work of his fingers in your head. Maybe you were just losing it, given you’d been captive for so long. It didn’t matter to you, you just wanted this finished. You would suffer it. And when his hand freed itself of your wrists to spread your thighs further, you didn’t fight him. You were exhausted, not just physically, that was certain, but mentally, spiritually, and if this was what needed to happen to get them to leave you alone, so be it.

His hips moved, and you could feel the tightness of your own body as he slid himself into you, a slow and drawn out movement that made you gasp from the sheer surprise. You could understand what he meant by making you ‘prepared’ as you felt the size of things. Once to the hilt, your body hit with an odd sensation of tightness, one that might have been pleasure but also of nervousness, he let his body rest over yours, his arms on either side of your head and his breathing ragged in your ear. You thought to wonder if he had enjoyment to this, but he had to – without his own enjoyment, this entire thing wouldn’t succeed. He needed to enjoy you – and underneath every single foul thing of the situation, you took pride in that.

“I’m not going to stop, but if I’m hurting you, then tell me,” he insisted, and then he gave no time for an answer as he began to thrust, slow and very steady movements. Your arms, by instinct, when to his own, hands on his biceps as if grasping for some clutch of sanity. His head was by yours, the deep gasps and breaths he took audible. He was focused on this, focused on you, and while you certainly did not want this – to be a part of whatever madness these people intended – you had no desire to further fight. Not now, not this far in – he had already violated you beyond what you’d ever expected in this dim place, but that violation was deeper than whatever this had become. How had he taken from you so much freedom, so much normality, and yet given you a sense of stability?

The movements were a bit rough, but nothing you couldn’t handle by this time. You wouldn’t risk asking him to be gentle, because if being rough would make him work quicker, so be it. Now, your nails dug into his biceps with force you didn’t even intend as your legs went back, giving him a better angle. If he could finish quickly, that’d benefit the both of you For that instance, he took his time, the movements almost in a perfect rhythm, his hips rocking against you with a firm cadence. When your head went back, resting on the soft sheets of your bed, he decided to bury his face into your neck, warm breath against sensitive skin making you clench. As you clawed at him, you could feel the strength within them, his muscles firm under your delicate hands. How you had a thousand questions for who this man was, and how any of this had happened. But, for this very moment, you simply focused on what you were feeling, what he was feeling, what both of you had become.

Tightening himself around your body, he quickened, his movements a bit more uneven. He wasn’t wasting time, which made you grateful to him. The bed gave very little noise, the fire now dimming as it choked on the last bits of usable wood, and Jack’s ragged breaths were increasing in volume. One of his arms went behind your shoulders, pulling you to him, while the other held himself up just slightly, so that his weight was not on you. The movements were rough, more so than before, a bit painful, but you said absolutely nothing, only waiting with a vice grip on his arms and a tense disposure as he let out a very deep breath. His movements were becoming uneven until they slowed as he released himself into you. You had been so cold, not even realizing it, that when he released, you could feel the warmth inside of you, which made you aware and uncomfortable, ripping you from any previous bliss.

He did not sit there, waiting until he had the energy to properly move. He pulled back, quickly adjusting himself and his clothes before he stood far by the side of the bed, looking down at you with a very unreadable expression. That was normal for him. You had lifted up onto your side, looking down at the white sheets of the bed with the realization of everything crashing upon you. This had been some depraved breeding program, and you were subject number one. Now, what? You wait? You wait and see if it worked? What if it didn’t? Would this happen again? Would they send someone else, if they thought Jack was the problem? Jack was not a questionable partner, but, you'd witnessed a glimpse of what else lived in the castle. Would they kill you? These questions haunted you worse than whatever had just happened. It was a thousand questions that suddenly overwhelmed your mind and fragile body, which simply wanted to rest after all that had happened. Your eyes must have shown all these emotions, because Jack, who stood not far from the bed, questioned you.

“Are you alright?”

The sound of his voice brought you from this spiral of thoughts, and you cast him a wide glare. How dare he ask that question after what had just happened. How dare he, and yet, you wouldn’t fight him. After you gathered your thoughts, you finally thought to reply, ignoring his question.

“If I find myself with...power...like you keep talking about,” you managed to start. You gave him a sharp and angered look, but his cold eyes were right towards your own. “I will kill you first, then everyone else here.” The words felt as empty as you did, but threatening him made you feel good. Releasing your anger upon him. That was your sense of power, unlike whatever it was he desired.

He had a mild chuckle to that and then turned to walk from you, to pace the room. “Not if I don’t kill them all first,” he stated, as if it were amusing to him your punitive anger. Your eyes squinted into suspicious slits at this, but he didn’t offer you another explanation for that. “But I already told you that you can’t kill me. And I'll tell you again. But you’re welcomed to try, it’s fun.”

“I’m not here to amuse you,” you snapped.

“Then maybe stop being so amusing,” he retorted almost playfully. You couldn’t believe his tone after the instance you both had just had, but he seemed as pleased as ever with himself. With you. “Just try to stay alive. The killing can – and will – come later. But now isn’t the time. You’re not ready.” His voice lowered. “And neither am I.”

You thought to offer him some sort of curse under your breath, but what was the point? You only shook your head in dismay and let out a sigh, shifting so that you could lie down on the bed with the covers well over you and keeping your view of him behind you.

"What of the medicine they gave you to drink?" This was abrupt, as if it hadn't crossed his mind before. The chalice for that sat empty on one of the tables of the room, having been poured out into your last bath. But might as well lie, and so you told him,

"drank it."

"Doubt that, but I also doubt it will help anyway."

Your hands tensed around the fabric of the blanket. You wanted him to leave you to the one place that was supposed to be safe for you.

“You’ll learn that I’m right, soon, just so you know.”

“Great, I look forward to it.” You hoped the sarcasm was obvious.

“You don’t. I don’t.” You could hear him stepping away, likely towards the door. “But you will.”

Before you could manage a response to him that might be smart or well considered, the door opened, bringing with it a light that was taken as quickly as it was opened. He was gone, leaving you to the lukewarm air of your cage and a yearning to understand what he might have meant. It sounded threatening, but by what you knew of this place, threatening was probably just the harsh truth. You gave another sigh and pulled the blankets over your head completely, wrapped up in the dark, hoping it would protect you from the looming anxiety and dread that filled your mind. You’d get up for another bath shortly, after your mind had calmed, but until that time, you thought you might already be drowning in a flood of fears.

Chapter Text

“There is no need to worry. I have taken all the necessary precautions.” Ramón spoke with a point to his words, folding his sickly hands behind his back and offering Saddler a wrinkled smiled. “There is no attack that my castle could not handle. It has stood that test for generations.” He dismissively swirled a hand and flicked his head to the side. “I see no reason it will not continue to do so.”

Mendez and Saddler both considered the other with a glance, across from the other at the table, but they didn’t exchange words.

Jack had found his place near the corner of the meeting room, the preferred spot to him, while the rest of them took seats at the lacquered square table. Ghastly portraits surrounded the room, offering nothing more than blank stares in response to the discussions had here. They hung on walls with peeling paint and chipped stone, some risking a fall if a footfall was too hard. A stench of mildew hung upon the entire room, clinging to the moth-eaten curtains that drifted about the drafty windows. Jack would’ve called it repulsive, but he had stayed in worse places in his history.

Jack had to comment. “Your castle didn’t have to fight against modern warfare.”

Ramón’s dirty, yellowed eyes cast Jack a look that betrayed his silence. A mocking smile was curling at the corners of his lips, as if he were about to throw a witty retort back to him, but Jack wasn’t of the mood for it.

“The United State’s army alone has weapons that could turn this castle to ruins in a matter of hours, and they’d do it happily.”

“And would they do such a careless act with our dear...guest? Within the walls?” The smile he had begun to don was now a complete outfit, only complimented by the black veins that pulsated under the pale skin of his face. Jack hated to look at the grotesque man.

“If you think an entire army cares about a single hostage, you’re delusional. The moment they find out what’s happening here, they’ll deem it a national security threat.” Jack had crossed his arms, and the fingers of his right hand idly tapped his bicep. “One hostage isn’t worth a nation.”

Ramón’s beady eyes turned to Saddler and he almost did a curtsy of sorts. “My lord, I have no fear…” he began, but the glare of Saddler’s dead eyes peered from under his hood and he waved a dismissive hand.

“I believe he is correct in his concerns. Nothing here could withstand an entire army.” Saddler’s eyes lowered, and he placed a hand to his chest, clutching his robe. “Which is why we must continue our work, and build our own army. Our own great nation, a kingdom above the rest. A holy body under...perfection.”

Ramón gave an appreciative nod to this and a quiet of course while tossing Jack a look that betray a knife in sharpness. Mendez had turned to speaking Spanish and was praying under his breath, closing his eyes and tipping his head down to the table. The words were useless whispers to Jack. He didn’t need to understand them to know they did nothing but offer the brute his false confidence, a false confidence that would find him slaughtered along with the lord he worshiped. Jack found the lot of them in that room nothing but worthless, imbecilic creatures who knew little more than their arrogance before them.

“The potential for plague-filled rats among our numbers is not inconsequential...see to it that any suspicious behavior,” Saddler paused and gave a tilt to his head. “Any suspicious persons...are properly exterminated. May nothing taint our home, the purity that binds us all.”

Mendez and Ramón both gave understanding nods to Saddler.

“That is all we can do,” Saddler finished. “I trust in all of you,” he added, and his eyes were upon only Jack when he said those words. But the words hung in the air. He had more that he wished to say.

“And in trust...how goes our most recent blessing?”

Jack had to ensure his face didn’t show how his mind cringed at that name. A blessing? The absurdity of these fools disgusted him. He felt a crack in his neck as he turned his head towards Saddler’s dusted form and replied to him.

“It’s fine. No issues so far.”

“But no progress...either?”

Ramón had a quiet and smug purse to his lips at his little corner of the table, the crows feet of his eyes wrinkling in pinched folds. Mendez kept his quiet and stoic nature, but even his own unyielding eyes were upon Jack. They all thought they could intimidate him just by their mere existence, with tiny piercing glares. But Jack felt no fear. He only felt the desire to have their skulls crushed beneath his boot and for this ordeal to belong to him.

“It’s only been a week. It’s impossible to know in that time. Even more without medical intervention, which is...lacking at the moment.” Jack was pleased with himself to have chosen such a healthy individual.

“We have little time to waste on this…” Saddler began, but even to a man as powerful as he, Jack would hear no insults. He chose to interject.

“I know you all count on ‘blessings’ and ‘miracles’ but those don’t happen in this type of situation. It’ll happen when it’s right. If you can’t wait on that, consider this project doomed from the start.”

Ramón and Mendez both seemed insulted on Saddler’s behalf, with Ramón tossing a lazy hand to his chest and Mendez’s hard features only worsening, but Jack didn’t pay them notice. Saddler only gave a timid nod and clutched at the robes around his neck.

“He is right, we cannot force the beauty of our gift. It will arrive when it desires.” Saddler then chose to stand, placing his hands upon the dusty table. “Though of course, it is possible the current blessing is not the one to deliver us our gift…”

“I will see to her disposal if need be,” Ramón interjected. “A meal for the diligent servants of my castle, a most welcomed treat.” If he had given a look to Jack, it wasn’t noticed. Shock would not work on him.

Saddler waved a hand. “I don’t think that will be needed. I trust in you entirely,” he assured as pinpoint eyes looked to Jack. “You shall not let us taste failure.”

I would shove defeat down your throats if I could, he pleasantly thought to himself, but he said nothing more. He didn’t need Saddler’s praise. He didn’t need anything from the lot of them. In this moment, it was they who needed him. They had all taken their own horrid attempts at defining Saddler’s goal for progeny. Jack had witnessed all of them from birth to death, as short as that time was between the two, and he knew that he would be Saddler’s last hope for success. Saddler would not touch him for the time being, and neither would the others.

“If you have need of me, you know where I will be. Though the next few days will be harrowing for me, so please ensure it is important,” Saddler reminded, and his eyes were upon Ramón with this. The little man desired Saddler’s attention like a leech to blood, and the two were often found together discussing various points of history of the Salazar bloodline alongside the modern attempts at experiments. Mendez had little desire for open attention when Ramón or Jack were around, and kept to himself, his village the only thing that ever seemed to bring him any kind of happiness. Though he often invited Saddler to the village to show just how much of a congregation it had become for his great lord.

As Ramón and Saddler both left the room with mumbles of various topics, Jack had noticed that Mendez stayed behind, giving Jack a cold stare. Jack had not moved from his corner, neither Mendez from his seat.

“What is it?” Jack pressed, his eyes suspicious slits to the man. If Mendez had a problem with him, Jack was not so arrogant as to think that the fight would not be difficult. Although he had never witnessed it himself, Jack knew what Mendez could do if his anger was placed in the right moment.

“The project…” he began, speaking in that manner that was slow and unsteady, a voice that ground its words. His English had never seemed lacking, but he spoke as if he had no confidence with it. “We have one only one blessing. Correct?”

“...yes,” Jack replied unsteadily.

Mendez appeared to be lost in though for a moment, his eyes wandering the room. He then added, “and if there were more? We would succeed without doubt.”

Jack didn’t appreciate whatever Mendez was offering, but he reiterated “what do you want?”

Mendez chose to stand at Jack’s aggression. The gift of the plaga had given him a height beyond the rest of them, and although the size shouldn’t have automatically meant he had strength, Jack knew he had more to him than the height. And as he had done numerous times already, he gave no indication of intimidation.

“I have some young women in my village...entirely capable to fulfill the needs of our lord.”

Jack failed to hide his disgust at the sudden implications, and shook his head in immediate denial.

Mendez ignored this, and continued. “Why put all this time and work into one single girl? Such a puny effort, when our mighty lord deserves more.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jack pressed. His fingers dug into his own biceps in frustration. He knew exactly and without doubt what Mendez was to imply, and Jack was practically offended at such an idea.

“Your camp. I can send them to you. They would be more than willing, more so than that unworthy thing you chose to have infest us.”

“I don’t need your filthy mindless freaks to make this project work,” Jack jeered, and he turned to face Mendez as the insult of that suggestion still freshly stung. He would not hear such words over his choice, his future, over her.

“You will not speak of them that way,” Mendez protested, and the features of his gray face showed fierce disapproval. His voice had that naturally destitute tone, even when angered, as if all his emotions were kept well hidden like dirty secrets.

“Don’t speak about my project like you didn’t already fail yours,” Jack reminded, and he peered at Mendez with enough hatred that it couldn’t be missed. The room had dimmed as the candles began to sputter, the cheap wax having met its end to the flame. Electricity was hard to bring to the castle, usually done so by generators and fuels haphazardly brought from the coast. Jack always considered it sheer luck the candles and lanterns didn’t burn the place to the ground, and before his project had set off, he might have hoped for that.

But now he and Mendez both stood in a growing darkness and a faster growing disdain.

“And if you’re so confident in your women, Mendez,” he continued, “then go ahead and try yourself. You won’t fail a second time, will you?” Jack couldn’t hide the curl of a smile on his face. “Or would this be the third?”

Mendez’s expression only turned to stone. Jack released the tension in his muscles and stepped back just a foot. Mendez didn’t expect Jack’s knowledge of him, of his many failures and of the disappointment Saddler had for him.

“You know nothing about what I am doing for Lord Saddler. For our future,” he finally conceited. Although the room had lost most of its light with only a faint hint of the stuff trickling in from a distant window, Jack’s gift allowed him to see without trouble. Mendez was still defensive, his figure a cold statue by the table, a mere decoration in that moment.

“Then our future is in good hands, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll get it right this time.”

Mendez did not obligate Jack further and stepped to the door of the meeting room. Before he did, he pointed a calloused hand to Jack. “You will fail with your project, and your wretched little pet will be disposed of. And when Saddler looks at you with the righteous hatred that you so deserve, you will have wished you had stepped out of your sinful arrogance to accept my guidance.”

“I don’t need the guidance of someone who couldn’t get it right on his own. You just want me to save your precious image. Someone to make you look good.” Jack scoffed. “It won’t be me. I have my own problems to worry about.”

“And you will have more soon enough,” Mendez warned, leaving the room with a crouch under the door’s frame. Jack could hear his heavy steps trail behind him before he was left to the dark room with his own thoughts, which was what he had been wanting from the beginning of the incessant meeting.

Jack was not unfamiliar with these kinds of threats, and they meant nothing to him. Ramón and Mendez both looked at Jack as competition for the attention of Saddler, tiny greedy children begging for the love of their father, his dry praise. But Jack had no interest in it, and they didn’t even realize that. He knew he needed to please Saddler if he had any hopes at all that he would put this place to bed and leave with what he wanted, but his natural state was that he worked well when he was focused on his own goals. He hardly let failure be an option, notorious to himself for taking risks and paths that others wouldn’t consider. At least, that was his usual course of action when it was only him that he had to worry about. Things changed when she became his problem.

Problem. He didn’t like that word and would abate from calling her that in the future. She was his responsibility, his decision, and his failures and successes would become hers as well. It was a shame he couldn’t seem to have her realize this just yet. She was still fighting him on what he knew was best for the both of them.

“Still in here brooding?”

That voice didn’t bring any confidence to Jack, but he recognized it.

“What is it? Eavesdropping on us?” Jack pressed.

The familiar and fairly unwelcome face of Luis appeared around the corner of the doorway. He had to have left his lab in some sort of rush, as a white coat dressed his shoulders.

“Of course not!” he interjected. Then he did a strange little bow that Jack found obscene and continued. “Well, maybe a little. Enough to know that your attempts to convince the big wigs that we’re in danger...might not have succeeded.”

“Watch how you speak in here,” Jack reminded. He wasn’t a particularly thoughtful individual, often acting in the moment. When Jack had learned this was the man in charge of the numerous strains that plagued the small community, he had no hesitation in questioning Saddler on the decision. One in charge of something so powerful needed respect, and to know when he should keep his mouth quiet.

“Now, now, I watched all of them walk away! Off to do very important things, I’m certain,” he replied, though the tone of his voice betray any sense of certainty that he might’ve had.

“What do you want?” Jack repeated. He could think of at least three separate things he needed to get done, all of which he considered more important than speaking to Luis.

Luis finally let up on his lackadaisical act and tilted his head to the side, his eyes now lost upon a peeling wall with interest. “Alright, first, I came to see how things were with you and the little project.”

“Fine.” That’s all Jack had to reply. He watched Luis’ loose demeanor with little care. The man was strange, and although Jack had worked with him for some months now, he didn’t do so with much joy.

“Only fine? No grand updates? No good news? No celebration?”

“Watch your tone,” Jack again reminded. “Don’t disrespect me.”

“Oh, but none meant! I just wanted to know how things were! You know, if our poor little princess was already sent to her doom or anything.”

Jack lifted from the wall and cast a bitter glance to Luis. “Watch it!” The worthless little rat had irked him near enough.

Luis held up two defensive hands. “I don’t mean anything by it! Though...just as I thought, you seem to care for that thing maybe just a little bit, yeah?” Now he had some expectant look upon his face, a cheap smile that he surely passed out to everyone that spoke to him.

Jack disregarded his comment and now stepped by Luis.

"I'll have to run some tests on her soon, you know...see how things are going. I really should check her vitals."

Jack knew that would be coming. And maybe it was for the best, considering Luis might be the only thing - aside from himself - that could keep her safe and alive. Jack hated that thought.

“Don’t eavesdrop on things above your pay grade, Sanchez. I’m sure Saddler wouldn’t appreciate to hear that.”

Luis sighed and took a few steps to block Jack from leaving.

“I’m with you, big guy. Not them. I’m not just here to poke fun. I’m actually here to poke you! With a needle. Your shot is due!” Luis fumbled at his coat. “Overdue, really. You know where my lab is...no reason to avoid it!”

Jack grit his teeth and sighed himself, holding out an arm with a clenched wrist. “Get it over with. I’m busy.”

Luis reached into his lab coat and brought out the unsecured needled, only a small lid to keep it from poking him incorrectly. In a quick swipe, the shot was done and Jack flexed his wrist. This little thing to keep him where he needed to be, to keep his strength under control. He didn’t intend to rely on these things for an eternity. If he couldn’t learn to control what festered inside of him, he didn’t deserve to have it.

Jack began to leave the room.

“Oh, one more thing! The real reason that I’m here...relates to your little meeting.”

“You have a knack for wasting time, Sanchez.”

“And a knack for good information! Some of the guys at the lab...someone might be on their way. I don’t know who or why. Or even when. But someone is on their way. Someone that shouldn’t be here.”

This finally caught Jack’s interest. All of Luis’ prancing around like his life was some sort of play, and this was the finale?

“You don’t know anything else?”

“I’d tell you if I did, big guy. Some of the supplies we get...well, people start to ask questions. People go missing. It’s not easy to hide this thing.” Luis now began to pace around the room, and he picked momentarily at his face with his thumb. “I’m doing my best to keep this under wrap...for my own sake, but it’s not easy. When the numbers don’t add up, the people in charge of those numbers start to ask questions. And I don’t have answers for them.”

Luis looked back to Jack. “Or, at least, answers that would make them happy.”

Jack’s frustration rose yet again. It was always some sort of problem in this forsaken place. And any problem like this would inevitably end up as his to solve. He would do it, but he was not pleased to waste his time on it yet again.

“Just be ready to watch out for that little project of yours. If she gets out, this whole place goes up in flames.” Luis ruffled in his pocket and drug out from it a box of cigarettes, tossing one between his lips and lighting it up. The acrid smell dazed around the musty room. Then he spoke with the lit piece still in his mouth. “Or, if I guess correctly, be ready to get the both of you out of here.”

As Luis turned to leave, Jack couldn’t deny his interest in Luis’ actions. He wouldn’t consider the man even remotely close to a friend of his, and had shown his disdain for him numerous times.

“What do you want from me?” Jack finally questioned.

Luis shrugged.

“Be ready to get you, her...and me out of here if the time comes. I won’t be a burden. No more than she will. Like I said earlier. I’m on your side.”

Luis puffed on his smoke and left the room, his movements now agitated but with the same character as before. The haze from the cigarette lingered behind him.

Jack didn’t necessarily like the thought of Luis being ‘on his side’. What did that mean? Jack had another responsibility when Saddler had given him more than enough previously. But one thing that gave Jack confidence was that Luis had already clearly made it known that he was only in support of Jack for the sake of his own needs. Jack knew this was the case for almost anyone in the world, Saddler especially, but for Luis to make it known blatantly to him meant that he wasn’t going to try and lie his way into using Jack. Which, if he had tried, would have failed with Jack’s knife telling the truth.

Jack flexed his wrist again as he was certain the injection worked into his very core, punishing the plaga’s raucous attempts at revolt in his flesh. Soon, he would be the one to stamp it out without the need of synthetic miracles. All of Saddler’s gossip of blessings would soon find their saint to uphold them.

The next few weeks were going to be some sort of hell, but that was nothing new to him.

Chapter Text

To say that you hated this place was a massive understatement. Every day felt worse, every day felt further away from where you wanted to be. The air always seemed stale, and every breath of it made you miss the outside. Dust settled on everything, and though you’d actually attempted to clean the small room, if for anything more than to pass the time, there was always more the next day. Twice a day those stupid, mindless servants would come in to check on you, but once a week, the head of the castle, Ramón, would find his way into your room.

You really didn’t like him in any personable manner. His arrogance permeated everything that he was around, though he had taken to you, it seemed. He was polite, and surprisingly not so strange when he spoke to you. He mostly asked how you liked the room, the castle, and if the servants treated you well. Then, of course, came the more...personal questions, regarding the whole purpose you were there. Had your monthly taken place, did you feel any different? The questions you didn’t want to answer, but reluctantly did.

”You will carry a great blessing within you...soon,” he would coo. You really hated to hear that, and cringed with a hand over your stomach every time he said something along those lines.

But the little man had grown on you, even if for no more than his amusement. He was free entertainment when he came to visit, with his odd movements and aged features. Whatever his age, you couldn’t guess, but what did it matter?

Even much of the old and unneeded furniture had been taken out of the room – a request Ramón had stated was ‘inspired by our dear Mr. Krauser’ though somehow was apparently also his own idea. The room was now quite comfortable, if a bit too open for your liking. The bed, an armchair and some old sofa, leaving a dresser to store any goods – if you had any.

You now were sitting in the window sill with a book in hand. Ramón had found a few books actually in a language you could read. They were all old tales, stories or myths of things you’d never heard before. One was even just the history of Ramón’s strange family, spanning for generations. He really wanted you to read that one. The castle – your prison – was older than you could even care to think about. Maybe you had a little respect for that, but not enough to want to continue staying there.

At the door to your room, you heard the sound of the lock mechanism. Then what might’ve been dropped keys. Then beyond that some sort of Spanish curse from a voice you didn’t recognize. You closed the book with a thumb at your last read page, and curiously watched the movements of the shadow beneath the door. When it opened, you expected someone to come in.

“Hello? Knock knock,” and it was followed predictably by a knock at the door, an outstretched hand from the hall.

“Come in?” you responded with confusion. You shut the book, knowing you’d have to find your page later.

“Oh, gladly!” and it was then that you watched a man who you’d never met before, fumble his way into the doorway with a briefcase in one hand and some duffel bag in the other. Both might’ve been heavy and your instinct thought to offer him help before you remembered your situation. You had already nearly leapt from the window sill, but quickly found your position back on it.

The man kicked the door behind him closed. In the pale light of a lamp – you had a lamp now! - he had the appearance of someone young. A mid-length amount of hair fell in crazed stands around his face, covered in days of stubble. His features were sharp, but he didn’t have the hardened expression you associated with many of the individuals here. With someone like, well, Jack.

“Good evening!” he called, and he dropped his bag and suitcase both on the floor. Dust shifted out from them and you reminded yourself to try and find a way to sweep the stone tiles once he left. “Well, I think it’s evening, but I don’t really know.”

He placed his hands on his hips and gave you a smile that, while maybe exaggerated, didn’t feel fake. But you didn’t know how to respond so you just cast him a confused look.

“Oh, yes!” he abruptly replied. He held out a hand. “Luis Serra! Resident scientist, and apparently doctor. A man of many trades!”

“….doctor?” You climbed down from the window sill and met his hand. It was warm, soft, not the hands of a laborious man.

“For the time being. Come, sit down. I need to gather some blood.” He waved his hand towards the couch. He was just so curious, energetic and full of life behind his eyes unlike most everything else here. You might’ve considered challenging him had it been anyone else to ask you to take a seat, a dead-minded servant, even...Jack. But you felt no hesitation with this man.

“So...why are you doing this?” you thought to ask him as you were now upon the couch. You held out an arm and he sat down next to you, draping the arm over his lap. He didn’t seem to care for personal space, but you didn’t feel unease even if you maybe should have. He had brought his briefcase with him and had it opened to his side. After a moment of shuffling about it, he pulled out a needle.

His wide eyes met yours at the question. “Oh, well to make sure you’re doing alright! Iron levels, B12 – a lot of people are lacking in that, you know.”

You clenched your hand into a fist on instinct. You knew the real truth.

“It’s a pregnancy test, isn’t it?” Your tone was not one that hid your upset feelings. It was hard to ignore what anyone here wanted from you. Even Luis stopped his movements for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but his hand tapped your own and he spoke with a calmer voice.

“Don’t tense up, it makes the needle hurt more. It’s just a poke.” And he was right, the needle was into your arm with that sound of a rush of blood against a vial. Then it was gone and he had a thumb over the spot with one hand while he gently turned the vial of drawn blood in the other.

Although you had felt trusting of him in the first few moments of meeting him, you were back to that lonesome feeling. Even this friendly and welcoming man was a part of whatever torment kept you here, and it wasn’t enough that he was a friendly face. Even some of the servants could be nicer than others, but you didn’t care for them. And when he let go of your arm, you brought it up to your chest, crossing your arms.

“Anything else?” you pressed, hoping he would catch on to the fact that meant he should leave.

“Well, how are you feeling?” he asked, closing up the vial of blood into his suitcase. With a snap, the suitcase shut. You had the expectation that he would get up and leave at that moment, but he leaned forward and gave you an honest look of concern.

“I...well…” You didn’t want to meet his look, and so you looked over to the fireplace instead. “That’s a weird question to answer.”

He nodded in immediate agreement. “Yeah, I’m in the same predicament,” he stated. He stated it so plainly and without emphasis that it took your head a moment to wrap around the implications of such a statement. Your face showed obvious confusion when you looked at him. Before you could even ask him to clarify, he added, “trapped here, that is.”

You could’ve asked what he meant by that, but he continued before you needed to.

“The only type of person who wants to be here is loco." He pointed to his head. "Those of us who aren’t don’t want to, but they need us.” Luis waved a hand in the air with a dramatic flair. “Can’t escape if I want to. And trust me, I do.”

You kept your arms crossed. You wanted to open up to him, and trust him and speak to him and have anyone sane give you even an ounce of care. Jack was sane and competent, but you couldn’t really make the claim he cared about you. You shook of these impending emotions and asked Luis, “why are you telling me this?”

He took this comment with surprise. “Well, just so you know you aren’t alone here maybe. Or maybe I’m just losing my mind and want some conversation. Can’t say the bugs are good at it,” and he offered up a nervous laughter. You remembered those gross things and visibly cringed, which Luis noticed. He stopped his laughter and added, “not funny, I know. Those things are just plain weird.”

“Everything here is ‘plain weird’,” you interjected. And that felt good to say.

“Everything but me!” Luis added with a pointing hand. When you looked at him, more in amusement at his ego, he lifted his hands defensively. “And you, and you! You seem perfectly normal to me for someone who is trapped in a castle!”

That gave you a smile. He was a funny man, and you were already back to feeling at ease with his presence. Your arms had uncrossed, you leaned back on the couch, and you felt it easy to simply look at him. His presence did not threaten nor challenge you, which started to give your mind wandering thoughts of Jack and how deeply intimidated you felt when he was in the same room as you.

“You look better when you smile,” Luis complimented, the warm words a distraction from your fear of Jack. You couldn’t understand if he were flirting, or just trying to give a compliment, but either way it made you feel an ease that had been absent from you for ages.

“Not a lot to smile about here,” you replied.

“And yet, I stay smiling!” he said in response, giving you an exaggerated expression as he leaned towards you. “My face is too handsome to dress with a frown, don’t you think?”

You caught yourself laughing once again at him. You liked him.

“Now, back to the question. How do you feel? Are you alright?” He shrugged. “Given everything.”

Oh, yeah. That pertinent reminder. The whiplash of feeling safe with him just to know where you really were. You hesitated to respond but finally offered him something. “Yeah, I’m fine. No worse for wear, I think.”

“Good to hear it. Try to keep your spirits up. It’s the only thing that’ll keep you sane until you can get out of here.”

You had been in your head when he spoke, but that brought your attention fully to him. He stood up from the couch and was messing with his suitcase, possibly clasping the locks.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Being happy is scientifically proven to---” he started. You had only just met him but you knew he was avoiding the question.

You stood up next to him and interrupted. “Until I can get out of here? You think that’ll happen?”

Luis released an awkward snort of a laugh. “If the big guy has anything to say about it, I know it’ll happen.”

“The big guy?” you echoed.

“You know, the dear Mr. Krauser as Ramón calls him.”

“He doesn’t care about me, what are you talking about?” That sounded too good to be true. It’s not that you felt like Jack were against you. He had shown he didn’t want you dead. But why would he be for you? That man was for himself and whatever he needed to get done here. There was nothing you felt could argue against that point.

Luis lifted his suitcase, then in a fit of nerves started to fidget with a pocket at his chest.

“I wonder how many sorry men tried to flirt with you and you never knew,” Luis commented, interrupted with a sudden ah-ha! As he pulled from his breast pocket a metal tin of what you figured were cigarettes. “Don’t worry, I won’t smoke one in here. That would be bad service.”

Humor. Humor was his medicine of choice in a stressful situation. He tried to give you an air of confidence, that everything happening was just part of the flow of his day. But he was nervous, too. He was probably stuck with as much fear as yourself. He was an intriguing fellow to you, with his eccentric attitude. Though he had just insulted you.

“You know, keeping a woman captive isn’t flirting.”

“You think he’s keeping you captive?” Luis pressed, tossing a cigarette into his mouth.

You didn’t have a response for him, but your furrowed brow was more than enough to prompt him to speak. “Ohhhh, no, no, no. It’s not him doing that.”

“Ramón?”

“Not hardly.” Luis waved his hands, then stopped mid-wave as if he had been turned to stone. “Well, he might be part of it. But he certainly isn’t the guilty party.”

He was moving towards the door. You took a few steps behind him. It wasn’t just that you wanted more information, but you weren’t certain you wanted him to leave. He was the closest semblance of normalcy you had witnessed thus far, and you felt the need to grasp that with whatever sanity you had left.

“Who is in charge here?” you pleaded. You’d always had the impression that something more lingered behind every face. There was no way that wasn’t what was happening. Even Jack had shown reluctance in claiming he was in charge of much more than your own well-being.

He stopped moving, between you and the door, and let out a sigh. His duffel bag was still on the floor. He gave it a glance when he was by it, then turned back to you.

“The big guy won’t be happy with you asking questions like that. Those are dangerous ideas. I know how hard it is to just sit here and wait, but it’s where you’re at right now.” With a few steps, he closed the gap between the two of you. He held out a nervous hand to you, and when you didn’t retreat, he placed it upon your shoulder. A warm touch, a pleasant one that didn’t demand anything else from you. Only something intent on making you feel better. He then said, “just a bit longer.”

The door to the room opened, and it gave you a scare. There was Jack, standing in its frame with his formidable and unreadable expression upon his face.

“Oh, look who it is! So nice to see you!” Luis playfully called, and he pulled his hand away from your shoulder. When it left, you thought how lovely it would have been to feel it again, but then, with Jack’s presence, you wondered if you had gotten so desperate for safety that you’d really just put confidence in this man you had only met. You had to let your mind ponder that one. Luis had given you no real reason to not trust him, but on the same line there wasn’t any reason you should. He was just another cog in the machine that was your captivity…

Right?

“Did you do what you needed?” Jack pressed. His tone was of no patience.

“Of course. I’m a professional.”

“Then leave.”

“You know, you could knock next time!” Luis cursed as he walked by Jack. The two of them shared a look and then Luis was at the door. He looked towards you and winked. “Call me if you need me!” and then his footsteps were fading down the hall.

“What did he do to you?” Jack pressed, closing the door behind him with a foot. That tiny sense of normalcy was now gone, and you felt your arms cross over your chest with a slow pace back towards your bed.

“Just drew blood. To...check things.” To check if I’m pregnant. By you.

“Nothing else?” Jack was stepping closer to you, but you shook your head and kept a distance.

“I’m fine. Nothing else.” When you felt the edge of the bed at your legs, you sat upon it. “Are you here to try again?”

Jack’s tension obviously eased. “No, not yet. I have to go through my own treatments, and we’re short on supplies for that.”

So you’d be safe for another evening, and maybe a few more. You had asked yourself the question of why he didn’t just try more than one, but that answered it. Now you had the question of what kind of treatments he went through, considering that from the previous attempt you wouldn’t have any question about if he were capable of such things. But Luis had given you warning about questions and you thought it best to heed him.

“How are you feeling?” Jack pressed. He was focused on you in a way that made you feel exposed.

You felt indignant. “Not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking. Or no signs of it so far.” Your book was still at its place on the window sill and you chose to retreat to it.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“It’s what I’m answering,” you replied with irritation. The audacity he had to pretend to care. And if he did care, as Luis so boldly claimed, what a way to show it.

Jack kept silent while you returned to the windowsill. But when you sat upon it, you caught his face and you knew he was in his head. His eyes were to yours and yet he wasn’t actually watching you.

“I know you hate me,” he boldly stated. “But I’m doing my best for you.”

For all the snarky responses you gave him, the insults and replies without a second thought, this one was not far from them. You practically blurted it. “I don’t hate you.” Both of you were taken aback by that, and you tried to grasp at changing the tone. “But I can’t say that I like you.”

Maybe he appreciated the compliment. Could that be considered a compliment? His expression wasn’t so hardened, so maybe he appreciated it.

“I don’t blame you. I’ve never been a very agreeable person.”

Luis must have planted some sort of longing in you to ask questions, to know things, because the next words came from you without having to wonder if they were the right thing to say or not.

“Is that why you’re here?”

Luis seemed perfectly agreeable. In that case, it made sense he was as trapped here as you. But Jack didn’t seem capable of coercion, so what was his story?

He gave a surprised and quiet laugh at that. You had amused him, but you weren’t sure what to make of that. You felt good about it, but shivered as a cold draft flew into the room. Laughter was a new thing from him, a genuine laughter of amusement, and not of pity nor mockery.

Instead of answering the question, he chose to come towards you near the window, but he kept enough of a distance that you didn’t feel uncomfortable. He was observing you as you tried to nestle back into the book, finding your place without much trouble. Why was it so hard for him to just talk to you, to just answer a question? You gave a sigh and peered at him from the top of the book. That bit of anger you always felt when he first appeared was dissipating.

You were happy to see him, whether you wanted to admit that yourself or not.

“Well, can you at least tell me why you’re here? In my room?”

“The same as Luis. To check on you.”

“Without a needle, I hope.”

“As long as you don’t have a knife,” he replied, and while it sounded with as much authority as anything else he said, you were certain that was an attempt at humor on his part.

The real truth was that you definitely had the knife, it was actually sitting on the window sill pressed between you and the glass. It had become your little bit of safety, even if you hoped you never again needed to use it on any living creature. But you didn’t show it to him, because you didn’t feel like he needed to know that you kept it on you as religiously as you did. It was yours.

“I’m fine,” you finally replied. Your thumb idly trailed over the words of the book without reading them. You’d said that exact phrase many times that night but you were certain you were lying every single time. You were also certain it didn’t matter if you were or weren’t.

Jack kept his gaze on you just a few moments longer before he nodded and turned to leave.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he said, and then there was a quick longing that he wouldn’t be here for the rest of the evening. The stress of feelings he made you feel were incomprehensible to you with every other inconvenience thrown at you.

Maybe you should’ve said something in return, but all that was exchanged were two sad looks between the both of you that meant almost nothing. He turned and left the room, leaving you to your idleness.

You sat with your thoughts for a while longer while attempting to read the book in hand, but eventually found that you were getting restless with the thoughts of the strange new cog in the wheel of this situation. Luis. And you never really stopped thinking about Jack and what that made up that man.

When leaving the window sill, you noticed that Luis had left his duffel bag neatly placed near the door, out of the way of anyone’s path in the room. You spoke a quiet oh no when you saw it and wondered just how you would get it back to him. It would be possible to mention it to Jack when he returned tomorrow, but if Luis needed it sooner than that and didn’t realize it was here, that could be problematic. And it didn’t seem like Jack and Luis were too friendly, so would he even be willing to bring it to him?

Sheer curiosity took over your reasoning of how to return it to him, and you nervously stepped towards it as if someone might be watching. You dropped to your needs and pressed carefully on the side. It was soft and now cold leather, real or fake you really didn’t know, and didn’t seem to be bulging with anything. It didn’t even feel sturdy on the inside, and maybe didn’t carry any lab equipment like Luis’ briefcase. I shouldn’t open it, you told yourself in your mind and closing your eyes in certainty when you said this.

But why should rules apply to you here? Why should you care if you behave or not? Luis appeared kind to you, but this was probably the most exciting thing to happen to you in weeks.

Your hand met the zipper, and you slowly pulled it back. Pulling apart the sides, inside at the very top was a hand written note in a cursive script. It was a little difficult to read but not impossible.

I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist opening this bag. But don't worry, I won’t tell! Keep your head up, and smile a little!

Eyes reading over the letter multiple times to ensure you understood it, you had an agape expression. With the note now on the floor next to you, you shuffled into the bag. It was a mixture of some snack foods in bags and packages, mostly written in Spanish on the fronts. Sweets and salty alike, with some books that might have been puzzles, along with a few other nick knacks that he must have thought you’d like. Your hand crinkled around the packages and over the book covers until it touched the bottom of the duffel bag and felt the floor beneath it.

Why had he done this for you? What could possibly taunt this man to do such a thing, when he didn’t know you until today?

Your heart felt a sense of comfort that had been missing. You suddenly had a strong respect for this man, and felt endeared to him beyond what should be normal given everything.

Duffel bag in one hand and the note in the other, you carried it over to the bed where it would be safe and secure. Nobody except for Jack ever came this far into the room, and you would shove it under the bed when you weren’t rummaging through it. This was yours, and you would protect it with whatever sanity you had left.

You took a small bag of chips and leaned against your pillow, opening them with the familiar crinkling sound you hadn’t heard in ages. The scent of salt and oil felt smooth, enticing, beyond the bland foods you had been fed here. Just one of them in your mouth and you felt a rush of happiness. This was that you needed and had been missing, just something of comfort, a tiny little piece of it, to carry you through this torment. There was no flavor, only salt, but it was enough to placate you and to undo so much trouble.

The only downside of this treat and these gifts was that now you had to take Luis’ words more seriously. He obviously had your best interest in mind - whatever that might mean for you - and now you had to wonder what he said about Jack. How true was it that Jack truly cared about you? Something more controlling everything in this place, if you remembered his words correctly. And although you had only been worried about yourself in the weeks you’d spent here, you were reaching the daunting realization that this entire problem was bigger than just you and Jack. Something worse was happening in this castle as much as you didn’t want to admit that, and although you were worried about yourself, you knew that it might be worth it to worry about everything else before it forced you to worry about it.