บท 549: 28. Joyride.
Damon's piercing gaze locked onto me, his eyes assessing my condition. A sense of unease settled in the air as he harbored something on his mind. With feigned exhaustion, I slouched in the chair, attempting to appear more fatigued than I truly was. I aimed to deceive him, buying myself precious time to snap his neck and flee through the hidden passages that granted access to the room housing my only means of escape — the phone and the guns.
Over the years, I had become adept at concocting escape plans, having successfully evaded many shed sessions. Yet, I chose not to include those episodes in my story, as it would only reinforce my victimhood. I desired to recount my narrative on my terms, selecting which parts to disclose. Damon's relentless scrutiny delved deep into my mind, tirelessly searching for the secrets I had concealed. Countless shed sessions had been erased from my memories throughout the centuries, but I had backups if I chose to remember them. However, Damon had devised a cunning strategy, implementing alarms within my mind to alert him if I dared to access those hidden recollections. Consequently, I refrained from doing so.
As I contemplated the optimal solution, several crucial factors came to mind. Bullets would merely momentarily impede Damon's pursuit, reinforcing my inclination towards escape. Uncertain of the efficacy of my teeth as a weapon, snapping his neck and making a swift getaway seemed like the most viable option. Suddenly, Damon rose from his seat, calmly maneuvering behind the armchair. He gently lifted me, adjusting my posture to a more upright position, before placing his fingers on my temples.
A surge of fear and terror coursed through me, intertwining with a sense of panic and the instinct to flee. The weight of someone chasing me burdened my thoughts; I had to escape, to get away. Everything else faded into oblivion, leaving only a suffocating cloud of fear and terror in my mind.
Damien released his grip, having already sealed off the secret passageways. Now, he relished the prospect of toying with Mimi before transporting her to a new shed, equipped with fresh instruments of torment. This plan was meticulously designed to weaken Damon, as his customary ritual of chase, terror, and fear would no longer yield the same results. It would give him pleasure as well and keep Damon weak and desperate, too. Damien had cunningly crafted his version, an imitation of Damon's methods, but not a replica.
"You've got to run, run, run, run," echoed the voice in my head, intensifying my already overwhelming fear and panic. The scent of my fear permeated the air, enveloping me like a putrid cloud. A herd of wet dogs was chasing me. There was no passionfruit this time, only an ashtray, and the wet dog stank with my fear in my nose. My mind could comprehend nothing else than this fear and terror, being chased.
Then, amidst the chaos, the voice of security, Damon, reached my ears. "It's all right, baby, shh, I'm here," it whispered into my ear.
But something felt off, horribly wrong.
I felt Damon's grip tighten around me, pulling me closer. I felt him wrapping an arm around me trying to make me seek solace. But something felt off. The scent in the air and the tone of his voice unsettled me. no passionfruit and his voice was wrong. Safety eluded me. Suddenly, a sharp pain coursed through my stomach, doubling me over.
Again and again, Damien pulled Mimi towards him, offering false reassurance. With one arm embracing her, he whispered, "Shh, Baby, it's alright. Just listen to my heartbeat, shh..."
He held a large serrated knife in his other hand, its glint sending shivers down her spine. Slowly, he plunged it into Mimi's stomach, relishing in the agonizing motion. Mimi stiffened, but Damon continued his facade of comfort. He withdrew the knife momentarily, only to push it deeper into the wound, twisting it with cruel pleasure. The pain intensified, melding with Mimi's terror and despair.
Even so, Damon persisted, inflicting unspeakable harm. Mimi's strength waned, her chances of recovery slipping away. It was time to take her to the shed, where Damien's sadistic intentions awaited. Unaware of Mimi's lingering fear, Damien reveled in his twisted ritual. Damien did not notice that Mimi was not all on board with this, and she felt something was wrong. The knife dripped with a concoction of metal, herbs, and toxins, weakening her further.
But to his dismay, Damon sensed his power slipping away. His desperate attempts to regain control were futile. Damien had cleverly transformed Damon's empowering ritual into his own, altering the scent, the weapon, and the method of infliction.
At first, I couldn't comprehend the pain, but as the fear subsided, I glanced down to witness Damon slowly driving the massive blade into my stomach, his grip tightening with each twist. It felt all wrong, the pain different, and the stench of wet dog overpowering. I desperately tried to break free, but the fear and terror consumed me once more. And so it continued, waking up to his touch, his strokes, and the piercing of the knife. But something was missing, the scent of passion fruit that once masked the horror.
I knew I couldn't bear Damon's touch or false comfort any longer. I attempted to escape, to run away from him, but he always found me, dragging me back into his sickening ritual. Eventually, the bleeding felt endless, as if I would never heal. I was trapped in a nightmare, infinite torment of something that I used to handle, somehow I knew that when he used to do this, it had some meaning but not anymore, this was pure sadism on his part, a need to hurt and maim me. To feel my pain.
Damon approached, securing my arms behind my back, and forced me into an armchair. His grip was hard, as he yanked my arms forcefully behind my back.
"By the way, baby, don't even think about escaping through the secret passages. They're blocked. But don't worry, we won't be here much longer. I have an extensive collection of new tools that I'm eager to test," His sadistic words hissed into my ear.
I could feel his hot, stinking breath in my hair and ear. It made me shiver with disgust.
Reluctantly, I found myself trapped in a shed session I never wanted. Powerless to resist, I watched as he approached me, retrieving something hidden behind a chair. Without warning, an oxygen mask was forcefully placed over my face. The sound of the tank opening filled the air, and panic surged within me as my breathing ceased. I did not breathe. Not once. I could be without breathing just fine.
Damon's stony gaze met mine as he clenched his fist, delivering a powerful blow to my diaphragm. Instinctively, I gasped for air, only to be struck again. Each time, I struggled to catch my breath, gasping desperately. The gas I involuntarily inhaled clouded my mind, making it increasingly difficult to comprehend the need to stop breathing and instead allow the intoxicating fumes to fill my lungs. I just keep on breathing, saturating my body with that damn gas.
Though consciousness eluded me, I teetered on the edge, a mere breath away. Suddenly, Damon hoisted me into his arms and carried me to an unknown location. Placed in the trunk of a car, I remained bound, the mask still clinging to my face. With a slight twist of the valve, Damon intensified the gas, and as the world blurred around me, I succumbed to the drug's effects, helplessly drifting towards the impending shed session.
I awoke to find myself bound to a cold metal table, completely naked. The room was chilled, causing goosebumps to prickle across my skin. Normally, I wouldn't have been bothered by the cold, but after weeks of captivity, the metals he had stuffed inside me, had diminished my body's ability to regulate temperature. Damon entered the room calmly, his presence sending a shiver down my spine.
With a press of a button, the table elevated, exposing my upper torso.
Damon explained in a soft voice, "Let's begin. This first device is a surgical robot, but not just any surgical robot - it's a dissecting robot. It's programmed to meticulously examine every organ, nerve, and vein in the body."
A sense of dread washed over me as he continued, "Unfortunately, it's designed for the deceased, unaware that you are still alive. But don't worry, Mimi, this robot is programmed to perform clean, precise cuts, ensuring minimal mutilation. It's equipped with lasers, blades, and various other tools. We can program it to work on any part of the body. Let's start with the legs this time. I've set it to examine your lower limbs, checking for nerve damage, muscle condition, nerve function, skin health, and blockages."
Damon's supercilious smile sent chills down my spine. He pressed another button, causing the table to spread my legs apart. Instruments descended from the ceiling, and rows of hooks pierced my skin on both sides, lifting it slightly. My legs were to be treated simultaneously.
The cutting knives descended, slicing through my skin. As the knives moved, the hooks pulled my skin apart, widening the wounds. The machine sliced open both of my legs from the top of my thighs to the tops of my feet. Then, a new set of hooks appeared as the machine began slicing through my muscles, exposing them one by one. With my upper torso elevated, I had an unobstructed view of the gruesome procedure being performed on my legs.
"Let your screams fill the room, Baby," Damon whispered in my ear.
He hadn't even paralyzed my vocal cords this time. My legs lifted slightly in the air, and I noticed my feet rested on metal tubes, granting the device unrestricted access to the back of my legs. More blades and hooks emerged from the side of the table, peeling back the skin on the back of my legs. The pain was unbearable. I shut my eyes tightly, refusing to witness the brutality. I clung to whatever strength I had left.
Suddenly, Damon lowered the head of the table, returning me to a flat position. He approached, opened my eyes forcefully, and placed applicators on my eyelids. Then, he grabbed something from the table and began cutting into my stomach.
The scalpel's bite was piercing, causing me to let out an involuntary gasp. With precision, he inserted a large and robust suction tube into my stomach, its mechanical whir echoing in the room. As it began to draw out blood and fragments of the intestine, I couldn't discern which was more agonizing - the manipulation of my stomach or the searing pain in my legs.
Once he finished draining my stomach, he carefully removed the tube. To my astonishment, I could feel a strange sensation of growth within me. Damon, satisfied with his work, palpated my stomach momentarily.
He then spoke, a tone of satisfaction lacing his words, "You see, Baby, I don't want to eradicate all your organs just yet. Your regenerative powers will remain intact, and the more organs you have, the better they feel."
As the machine moved on to examine my nerves, bolts of electricity and pain coursed through my legs. My legs were stripped bare, the skin peeled away, and I could witness the device methodically stripping away layer after layer of muscle.
Damon circled the table momentarily, observing the intricate work being done on my legs, before once again grasping the knife. He sliced open my stomach, starting from my diaphragm down to my hips. As a habitual practice, he placed tissue spreaders on my skin to prevent it from closing in. The icy touch of metal stung against the spreaders, their silver or platinum surfaces grazing my flesh.
His hand grazed my peritoneum, admiring the delicate organs nestled beneath. "I'm sure the machine will have some fun here eventually, but for now, it's my turn," Damon chuckled.
He reached for a jar and a paintbrush from the table, dipping the brush into the jar and shaking off the excess. With deliberate strokes, he began to coat my stomach lining with the substance. Each swish felt like corrosive battery acid being poured into my insides, a searing burn that coursed through me. I clenched my teeth, biting down hard to suppress any screams.
Damon's voice taunted me, "Come on, baby, scream for me."
He continued his torturous strokes, the flames of pain engulfing my legs and spreading to my lower back. My stomach felt as if it were being torn apart, the jar of substance coating my peritoneum in its entirety.
Then he took a scalpel and cut a hole in my peritoneum, through which he inserted a long, thin tube so that the tube was everywhere. The tip of the tube was somewhere under my intestines. The tube went from side to side, and the wound was just under my diaphragm. I do not know how long he pushed and manipulated that tube in my abdominal cavity.
Damon reached down and pushed the button. There were holes in the hose and bits of metal sticking out of every hole. Damon moved the hose all over my stomach so that the metal spurted out between the organs, out of sight and out of mind.
There was a lot of metal dripping, though it didn't seem like it would be long before I felt it. Pressure had increased quite a much in my abdomen. Eventually, Damon pulled out the rest of the hose and let my stomach close up. My peritoneum was still on fire. The device had now moved into the bones, and the pain of 8 drills in the bone at the same time was unbelievable.
Eventually, the device stopped on my legs, and Damon went to bandage them with something I hadn't even looked at. My eyes were dry as the applicators wouldn't let the eyelids close, and they stung. My legs were on fire. Why didn't the machine destroy my tissues to stop the pain? It felt like he mashed all the cutout pieces that were still alive and tied them with herbal or metal-imbued bandages. Trying to maximize the pain.
Damon lifted me onto the cold, metallic machine, his grip rough and uncaring. The shuttle-like device loomed before me, its sleek black plastic interior filling me with unease. The stifling confines made my claustrophobia flare up instantly. With a metallic clang, Damon restrained my hands with cold, unforgiving metal cuffs, rendering them immobile. The lid closed tightly, imprisoning my legs, and leaving me utterly helpless.
As darkness engulfed me, I became acutely aware of the overwhelming smells and sounds. The acrid scent of plastic mingled with the sterile tang of metal, creating an unpleasant combination. The hum of the machine reverberated through my body, intensifying my apprehension.
With a flick of a switch, the device sprang to life, sending vibrations coursing through my stomach. The metal chips embedded within it began their relentless assault on my insides. They shifted and twisted, propelled by the occasional magnetic force that emanated from the device. Each movement sent waves of excruciating pain rippling through me, as the sharp pins dug deeper into my flesh.
My peritoneum, still coated in an unknown viscous substance, provided little protection against the agony that ensued. The magnets, positioned both on the machine and behind my back, exerted a force that prevented the chips from breaking through my skin, but they danced and writhed beneath its surface. The pain became unbearable, and my screams filled the air, echoing off the icy walls.
Damon's sadistic pleasure was clear in his words, his voice dripping with malice. He taunted me, reveling in my suffering, praising the very magnets that were causing me unimaginable torment. The relentless movement of the metal chips continued, gradually ascending higher within me. With each passing moment, the chips burrowed deeper, penetrating my diaphragm, puncturing my lungs, and tearing mercilessly at my heart, stomach, and internal organs.
The sheer intensity of the pain overwhelmed me, pushing me to the brink of consciousness. Darkness consumed me as I succumbed to the unrelenting agony inflicted upon me by the sadistic device.
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