Survival Of The Fittest

In news reports, books, what have you, they frequently described the smell of burning humans as "acrid." Many other substances could be described as "acrid" but one must wonder if flesh was described that way because of them, or if they were described that way because of flesh? Common place scents of meats and elements created distance from reality. They could wax morbid about how Julien's flesh smelled like fatty pork pressed to a too-hot skillet, that when his skin split it crisped and fumed like paper thin charcoal. Perhaps on a stretch that his blood scalding under the blade reminded them of pennies left to bake in a car under a hundred degree sun.

Few understood the protection lies could provide like they did. It wouldn't work though. Julien's burning flesh smelled like Julien's burning flesh. Nothing else. It was its own sensation and it surrounded them, filled them, it slipped through their nose to their mouth to their stomach and whipped something back on its way to their lungs.

Acid shot up their throat in time with peeling the spear back from his face. It was not so much bile even as they stared at the strings of skin clinging to the metal. A small foul pool lingering on their tongue as though they had choked. Not so much. They could swallow it and he may never know.

They spat it in his face instead. "My stomach is not to your advantage. I have no dignity to lose." Some liquid clung to their lips. They left it. "And you are already broken with your regrets. I only have to find what will make you admit it."

The spear flipped over to its unblemished side. "Speak the words."

They shoved the flat onto his scalp.

Julien saw more than felt his skin ripping away, already melted against the blade of the spear. More blood flowed down his face, dripped down into his mouth, cool to the touch in comparison to the burning spreading through his face. Swallowing it hurt significantly less than smiling had, at least. Blaise spitting on him didn't even warrant so much as a batted eyelid; there were more important things now than letting a petty insult mean anything more than it deserved to.

It came down again soon, the searing agony returning to make sure he stayed painfully aware of exactly how it felt. Strands of hair came free with the blade this time and the heat spread across his skull. His hands started to feel slick as they went pale from strain, cuts opening again to leak that much more of his life away a bit at a time. But he was still far from being at his limit yet.

Julien considered simply saying no, but his mouth began to well with blood again, and since it wasn't like he really needed it any longer he made spitting it at Blaise his answer. Repaid in kind, no more, no less.

The scent of burning hair was not as unfamiliar to them. Enough experiments with their appearance had gone awry for that. Never so much at once though, that was a change that nearly had them retching again. This time they pulled away faster; if this was more painful it was unintended though they would not admit it. A moment, just a moment, to gather themself followed. They started to speak.

Julien spat blood at them.

Some of it went in their mouth.

Very slowly they closed their lips. Wiped the spittle from their face. Took a few steps backward. Breathed. Hurled the spear as hard as they could into the next room.

They followed after it quickly enough. There were new tools to prepare.

---

"You know," they began as they made the fifth incision on his forearm, "you only make this more difficult." Blaise had been forced to kneel over him now. At some point while they were searching his things there was a loud crash. They had rushed into the room with his bag over one shoulder and the knife they had found in the other hand but there was no need for haste. Julien had managed to swing the chair to its side on the floor, but it had gone no farther. His body had shifted some to the side when he fell but the ropes held, they had made certain of that with adjustments. It could not be comfortable for him to lie like this. The extra tension against the ropes was likely not enough to help him escape but it must be chafing. An insult compared to the injuries they were inflicting, but one of his own design.

"Why do you keep your pride when it hurts you?" Ten shallow cuts across his left arm from his now exposed shoulder down to just above his wrists. Five or so across his stomach once they had slit the midriff from his shirt, they had to be careful with those, they were bleeders. So far another five across his right arm but they aimed to make it an even ten. "It is clear you have been in no condition to go home for some time. Why have you not given up?" Compared to the brands the knife was likely not so painful. That suited them. He would know their creativity would not be exhausted that easily, but wondering what their plan might be, ah, that was torture of a different sort. One that was easier on them than the brand had been. Hardly an hour had passed that they did not smell blood in some stage and after what they had done with Parker's axe the cuts barely registered as wounds. So small. So fine. Deep enough to bleed but if you bandaged one you might forget it before the day was out. Twenty five or so, mm, they may not be so easily ignored. It was not a hypothesis they would test though. Julien had time. As much as an hour might have passed since they first saw him, they were in no hurry. He did not have a day though. His resilience would break well before then.

"Such a stupid question. Why did I keep you when I knew you might hurt me? Some things are worth the cost they come with, Blaise." The ropes digging into his skin weren't the worst thing. If anything they helped, stemming some of the blood that had flowed out of each and every place where they'd parted flesh with the knife. Julien would have to call the worst part of it how deliberate Blaise had been about making them shallow. In just about any other circumstance, he might have been touched by the care that went into it, but it was only being taken now so he didn't up and die before they could get what they wanted.

"What will you do, I wonder, if you don't get what you want out of me? Is it to be gun, or will you leave me here to bleed dry alone? I'd ask if you would stick around to watch it happen, but that would be too much like taking responsibility for killing me."

"Flattery will bring you nothing." Irresponsible, dangerous, and worth the price. The words were foreplay between them. It stung. It should not. In a house not so different from this one they expressed a similar thought before they decided to take Dante's gun: Nothing good had ever come to anyone that stayed with them. Shock, fury, negotiation, and despair all had their way with the notion before they accepted it, so it should have no power over them anymore.

A future with him had not been so unimaginable though. Despite what they were, perhaps because of what they were, he had wanted them. Possibility existed even here that if they had woken up beside him instead of Dante they would both have been set on a different course, no?

No.

It was a lie.

There was never any hope for them. They were set on this course by years of decisions. No alternative paths existed, because if they did they would have made terrible mistakes to be here.

They would admit to being selfish. They would admit to being a murderer. They would admit to being a monster. They would admit to ruining the lives of all they came in contact with. But they would not admit to being wrong.

"Have you been cleaning your wounds?"

There were two bottles from the bay in their bag. Blaise had saved them for washing up without travel since they had so many at their disposal. They had been so careful to keep it away from their wounds both for the bandages and because they could not imagine how the saltwater would burn.

Julien was so talkative. Perhaps he would like to share details with them. They unscrewed the first bottle and began to pour its contents over his stomach.

The scream of pain it tore out of him tapered off into wheezing laughter around about the time Julien stopped thrashing. "Flattery? How fucking deluded are you?!" He knew the pain would end when their patience did, limits of which would never exceed his own no matter what they did, and he didn't have anything better to do than punch holes in what Blaise thought passed for a psyche, goad them closer and closer to reaching the end of that tether that was the only thing holding him to life.

As much of a poor excuse for it as it already was. He wasn't any stranger to the sting of the sea in his eyes, or even the pain of being shot or feeling flesh burn away now, but this was an entirely different affair to anything prior. The salt water washed over all the cuts in his stomach almost at once, raw nerves screaming in protest even worse than before. Right when it had started being something like easier to bear through without falling unconscious too.

The cascade came for his arms, one then the other. His hands too, they would not neglect the wounds they didn't make. His screaming was the first crack. With it he promised that he could not hide from them forever. Resolve against resolve with only one left...intact was inaccurate. They had not been intact in some time. But they could break him with them.

They rose and took two bottles this time. One was more seawater while the other was smaller, the liquid thicker. Both had their labels removed. "No more than you," they replied before dousing his mangled leg. The state it was in was worse than anything they had seen, so they could only imagine the pain would be excruciating. Liquid fire that seeped inside him while clinging to his bandages and pants. It would linger worse than any other torment so far.

And it was only a distraction.

They slammed the lip of the sanitizer to the bullet wound in his knee and squeezed until their fingers touched.

"We both know that's—" Well, fuck everything he'd just thought about that being worse.

Julien screamed his mouth dry this time. Thrashing only made the pain worse, but it was at least doing something, not simply lying there and taking it. Wouldn't do to let Blaise think they were actually making any progress, after all.

When he was finally able to get the better of it again... "No." No matter how much he might want to hate Blaise or not, giving even to that to them would only feed into what they were doing to him.

Most of the times they had killed someone it had been shockingly quiet. Dolly, Joanne, they could not shut their mouths in the moments before their deaths but as life left their body they gave little to acknowledge it. The boy yesterday had chattered, even screamed when wounded. It could not be compared to the sounds Julien made after they cut him off. They were screams that transcended one sense into another; they heard him but they also felt him. There was some cliche simile about the sound echoing inside their heads which was true enough. That was not what drew their focus. The vibration moving through their fingertips, up their arms, into their chest like it might shake their heart out of sync and into the churning pit of their stomach, that demanded their attention. The space around them felt small all the sudden. Just large enough for their body and Julien's, not for his voice.

They did not realize their hands were over their ears until he stopped. The sound did not feel muffled one decibel. In what could only have been deliberate spite he waited until they lowered them to deny what they hadn't found the composure to ask yet. The knife was in their hand again. Their gaze jumped all over his body looking for the next weak point. What would hurt him most? To take an ear? Scalp him? Extend his smile? Cut out his tongue? Or did they have the wrong tool entirely? There had been tweezers, yes, and more medical supplies in the other bags. The image of freshly exposed nail beds soaking in hand sanitizer came to mind. His pain was compounding and the screams showed they were breaking through, it would all be over so soon and he would-

Blaise caught the look in his eyes. Bloodshot. Wet. Strained. Yet still on them. Still above all else defiant.

He would not break from pain alone. They would have to take something precious from him.

Very well.

They rose from the floor and stumbled their way out of the room in silence.

---

It would be a long time before they could face him again. They went through everything at their disposal. Options were all around them but did they escalate? Did they shock? No. Ideas were turned away in droves. It was not enough to hurt him, Julien understood pain in ways they could not wrap their head around. It was not enough to humiliate him. What came next would have to rob him of something he could never get back in a way he could not be prepared for, even with notice. Especially with notice. With warning. They would show him the barrel of the gun and it would be his decision to pull the trigger. Only his.

It had taken them an amount of error to tear the device down. An ugly creation full of split plastic that had melted in places as they held it to the flame. They did not trust the heat to keep but their only solution was to walk through the house very slowly, the tool in one hand and a lighter under it in the other. It was not as warm as their fire outside, but it would have to due. They entered the room and wondered which he would linger on longer: the blank look on their face, or the red hot needle sticking out of their mutilated epipen.

"Speak the words."

Despite their best efforts there was a tremor in their voice.

Julien had gone pale from the life seeping out of him, senses dulled by the pain that wouldn't leave him for his refusal to curl and die. All he had the strength to do at this point, horrifying as what awaited him would inevitably be, was close his eyes and sigh. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye... heh."

Blaise would be doing him a favour, know it or not. He was sick and tired of seeing them hurt as they hurt him. Neither of them would ever find the validation they sought from each other, and yet here they both were all the same, both too fucking bullheaded for their own good; one couldn't see when it was time to stop bashing their head against the wall, and the other couldn't see when it was time to stop carrying himself to a peak he couldn't reach any more. He had been stuck in his own mind for hours and days on end as it was. One or two more would be easy, whether the lights were on or off.

The lighter hit the floor first. Then their knees. Tremors moved from their vocal chords to their fingertips with the needle inches from his eye.

Their free hand reached forward to hold his eyelids apart.

"Speak the words."

The needle crept closer.

"No."

Julien looked directly at Blaise. His voice stayed just as sure as it had since they began, despite the pain.

Everything he cared about had been lost to him the moment he ended up here. What difference would an eye make?

"Speak the words."

The needle crept closer.

"No."

He didn't spare it even a glance.

"Speak the words."

The needle crept closer.