Whumpuary Series Pt. 12
Ayyy Whumpee’s got a name! Finally!
Cw: torture, burns, gags, restraints, thoughts/acceptance of death, self sacrifice for a cause, kinda sensory deprivation (noise canceling headphones?)
Noah knew their intel was the only thing keeping them alive.
If it wasn’t for the snippets of information tucked in the back of his mind, guarded with the strongest defenses he could muster, Whumper wouldn’t have killed him already. He would have killed him the moment that first day in his office, he would have pulled the trigger. Noah knew the whole spiel, despite how Whumper fixed to cover their intentions.
“Tell me who you work for, Noah, and I’ll let you rest. Tell me this, tell me that, tell me, tell me, tell me, and all your pain will end.”
Spill your secrets and I’ll spill your guts, more like it.
Noah was good at keeping his mouth shut. It’s what had kept him alive for so long, both in the compound and before. He knew there were times where it was better to sit quietly, let whatever was happening happen and pray that the consequences weren’t too awful. Don’t throw kerosene onto a fire unless you want to burn the place down, right? A lesson he had learned rather quickly on, and one he hadn’t forgotten easily. Respectful, submissive silence. Pride, dignity, those had been stripped away from him long ago, so it didn’t matter much now anyways. Whumper could do whatever they wanted to him, and he wouldn’t crack.
If he were to speak, to tell Whumper the words that laid just behind his pressed lips, it would be over. His life would be over, the cause he was willing to sacrifice so much to. Not that his life seemed to matter much in the eyes of, well, everyone, but the cause. He clung onto the cause like a match in the dark, letting it light the small way in front of him, though it did little against the pressing void of unsure.
Noah didn’t want to die. Of course not. But he knew there was only two possible ways out of this, this awful situation. Escape, which was just about as probable as Whumper up and deciding to let him go, or death. The cold release into the unknown. He didn’t want to say he was prepared for it, now could one ever really prepare for the sharp transition from life to death? But the looming fate had become less threatening over time. Almost comforting, in a manner, knowing it would be waiting for him once he was ready to shift from one hell to another. Or rather, when Whumper was ready for him to.
This was Whumper’s game. By keeping their mouth shut, Noah wasn’t refusing to play. They were delaying their turn. There was no timer, no little glass filled with sand ticking down the seconds. It wasn’t just Whumper’s game, it was Whumper’s board. The cards were stacked, dice weighted. The rounds were long and exhausting, grueling in both a physical and mental manner. The end was nowhere in sight
And right now, Whumper was winning the match. They were playing chess, and Whumpee couldn’t even figure out the rules to checkers.
Noah was in a room, not all unlike Whumper’s office. Same minimalistic design, same dark wood furnishing. There were no windows, which wasn’t all that surprising, but the room didn’t give off a cramped, claustrophobic feel like most did.
There was a table in the center, nearly stretching the length of the room, six leather chairs on each side and one at each head. On the table there were a few decorations, open laptops and paperwork, and an odd succulent centerpiece placed to add to the office feel. There were two doors, one on the far short wall and another wider one on the wall left of where Noah was now situated.
People sat around the table, all but three of the fourteen seats occupied. Dressed to business formal, Noah didn’t see a single person without pressed slacks or some sort of tie.
Whumper sat at the seat closest to him, the head of the table, laptop open in front of them. By the way their shoulders moved, Noah could tell they were speaking, but with the headphones pressing tightly over his ears, all sound was muffled and incomprehensible. Not that it really mattered, Noah was sure that even if he could hear, he wouldn’t have been paying much attention.
What was this? The question bounced around his mind, echoing like a rock tossed in a cavern, breaking the muted silence. Nothing much had happened for the last few weeks—the usual torture and interrogation, the pain, the starvation, all stuff Noah was growing increasingly accustomed to. Lashes of the whip didn’t exactly seemed to hit the same—no pun intended—when they fell upon layers of scar tissue and gashed skin. But this morning, two guards had entered their cell in the usual intrusive manner, grabbed their arm and dragged them out into the compound, up the stairs and then up another flight, and eventually into the conference room where they now were.
Their arms were tethered to either side of them, wrists wrapped tightly in bare chains that pinned their limbs directly against the metal bars. They kept having to flex their fingers, the remaining ones, to keep the circulation from cutting off completely. Another chain looped around their neck, though it was looser in comparison the metal still pressed awkwardly against his throat, the links leaving little red marks where they rubbed against the bruise littered flesh. His shirt was gone, an exposure he had grown rather used to in the past months, back forced flush against the radiator. It was warm, uncomfortable, but not yet burning. His back, damaged with scars and gashes alike, scabs that split open with as little as a wrong twitch, ached not only from the position of being forced to sit stretched upright but where the bars individually dug.
Whatever, though. It wasn’t the worst thing Whumper had done to him.
The quiet was almost nice. Almost. No one was looking at him, no one mocking his suffering. Only a soft muted hum managed to slip past the headphones, little wisps of the conversation he wasn’t a part of. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine those wisps becoming the lapping waves of a quiet stream, the trickle of water through a creek. The bars against their back would be the bark, the only pressure against their wrists the cuffs of their sleeves, bunched up slightly so they wouldn’t get wet when they dipped their hand into the quiet waters.
He didn’t close his eyes though. A world of peace, resting just beyond the darkness, but he couldn’t close his eyes. Whumper’s attention wasn’t on him right now, which was a relief of its own, but that could change in a moment. Would change in a moment. It wasn’t a possibility, it was a probability. Bound to occur at one minute or the next, the only variable in the equation was the when.
Noah was good at keeping his mouth shut, but his eyes open. His eyes open, gaze distant to the scene around him, every thought flitting back to the river in his mind. The lapping water free running over the riverbed, the soft breeze cooling the metal slowly heating under his back.
Then Whumper looked back, glancing over their shoulder as they turned in the chair. Their mouth twitched up into a smirk, lips moving with words unheard. They waved a hand across the table behind them, speaking to those sitting around for a moment before pushing up from their seat, and stepping over to Noah’s right. With the way the chain snared his neck, only allowing him a little leverage as he tried to follow Whumper. They stopped at the wall, hand raising to fiddle with some little box built into the wall—Noah was sure he could guess what it was. He forced his gaze back ahead, not giving Whumper the satisfaction of eye contact as they stepped back in front of him.
Noah hoped they would just return to their seat, continue whatever stupid meeting this seemed to be, but luck was clearly not on his side today, as instead Whumper stopped right in front of him, their foot stepping against the short chain that bound Noah’s ankles, pinning his legs. So he wouldn’t kick? Even Whumper knew, he wasn’t that stupid. That would practically be asking Whumper to break their shins, to nail their ankles to the floor with long stakes, take a hammer to his knees, whatever. No, Noah wasn’t that stupid.
Apparently Whumper didn’t seem to agree with him, but that didn’t matter.
Whumper was speaking now, but only a low mumble of sound made it past the headphones. Noah was almost glad, to be honest. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen to whatever bullshit Whumper was going to go on about now. Noah’s gaze fell to rest on a point in the distance, just above Whumper’s head. He didn’t want to look at them right now. Not even as Whumper’s hands moved up to their tie, undoing the silk knot before sliding it off their neck. Before Noah could think enough to question, Whumper’s hand shot forwards and grabbed him by the jaw, a small gasp giving them the chance to pry their thumb between Noah’s teeth, and force his mouth open enough to then shove the fabric between his lips.
The chain dug against his neck, skin pinching between the links as Whumper wrenched his head down, nearly choking him as they tied the strip of fabric into a tight knot against the base of his skull.
Whumper pulled back a moment later, their hands retreating and allowing Noah to raise his head. The fabric rested awkwardly between his molars, pressing down his tongue, the foreign object nearly making him gag. Whumper just smirked, raising a single finger to their lips, an undeniable “shhhh” pairing the moment even though Noah couldn’t hear it, and Whumper turned around, taking their seat once more.
And just like that, Noah had been reduced to a shadow, just as much a decoration as the dingy succulent at the table. The cloth didn’t muffle his groans much as the metal behind him heated up, up, up until he could swear it was red hot, searing his flesh with just a graze. If the commotion was a problem, no one at the table acknowledged it as he squirmed and leaned forwards, trying to get a bit of distance between himself and the metal grate, but the chains did not allow such leverage.
He was nothing, sitting there indifferent from the empty air, left to suffer in silence in a room full of people.
At one point I’ll update these links :p
