Data & Dust

Drip! Drip!

I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

I can’t breathe. The pain is everywhere. It’s not sharp anymore, it’s like my body’s just shutting down. No matter how hard I try, I can’t fight it. This is it… no one’s coming. No one will save me.

God, it hurts.

I keep trying to tell myself it’ll stop. That this can’t last forever. But what if it does? What if this is it? What if this is how I die, and no one even knows? No one will come. No one will stop this.

The worst part — no, the worst part isn’t the pain. It’s knowing they’ve got me. Whoever they are. I can’t fight back. I can’t move. I can barely think. They’ll come back again and again and again, and I’ll just sit here, helpless, like a ragdoll for them to tear apart.

And when they do... what’ll be left of me? What’s left now?

I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m a dead man. That’s what I am.

Ethan’s fragmented thoughts collided with the harsh reality of rough hands yanking him from the floor. The sudden movement sent waves of blinding pain through him, his mind barely registering the agony, his emotional state sinking deeper into despair. His body slumped into the new chair, the previous one lying in splinters on the ground, a testament to the violence he had just endured. Every inch of him throbbed with soreness, the dull ache of deep bruises mingling with the sharp sting of fresh cuts. His vision, already useless from the swelling and blood that matted his eyelids, was now completely taken from him by the tight blindfold that wrapped around his head. Darkness suffocated him.

Ethan’s attempt to speak was reduced to a strained, barely audible rasp. His throat felt like it was on fire, and each attempt to vocalize sent sharp pangs coursing through his neck, making coherent speech nearly impossible. Breathing alone was agony. His lips parted, dry and cracked, but his voice had abandoned him. He swallowed, trying to wet his mouth, but there was no moisture left to give.

Suddenly, rough fingers gripped his cheeks, digging into the flesh, forcing his swollen mouth open. He winced, the bruises on his face flaring with aching, and struggled weakly, twisting his head in a feeble attempt to pull away. But his body betrayed him, weak and sluggish from the beating. Resistance was futile.

The cold plastic of a water bottle pressed against his lips. He jerked his head, refusing at first, but the grip on his face tightened, and the liquid spilled into his mouth. His body’s instinct took over as the cool water trickled down his parched throat, soothing the fiery dryness. For a brief moment, the pain dulled, and he swallowed eagerly, despite himself. It was a cruel mercy — refreshing, yet humiliating.

His mind — blurred, swirling. Water — so good, so cold, but it’s fleeting, slipping away. Everything hurts. Why — why is it still hurting? Can’t escape. Just can’t…

He was too weak to care, too drained to resist anymore. His muscles slackened, and he sagged deeper into the chair, a prisoner to both his suffering and his captors.

Ethan’s body sank deeper into the chair, muscles locked in fear as the footsteps approached. They were heavier than before, deliberate, like the person behind them carried death in their stride. The sound of the lighter flicking open, the hiss of the flame sparking to life — it all sent chills crawling up his spine. The smell of tobacco mixed with the stale air, filling the room with a new kind of tension.

The voice came next, cutting through the darkness that enveloped him. “Ethan Russ.”

Deep. Cold. It was the kind of voice that didn’t need to shout to be terrifying.

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat tight with fear. The hands on his shoulders gripped him harder, anchoring him to the chair as if to remind him of how helpless he was. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, trying to race out of the cage of his ribs, but his body betrayed him. He was frozen, his mind scrambling for any words that might save him, but nothing coherent came.

Before he could gather himself, a sharp sting jolted in his neck — hot, piercing, like the cold edge of a knife or something heavier. His breath hitched in his chest, and his body went rigid. A knife! It has to be a knife!

His throat clenched tight, panic taking hold as the hurt radiated. He tried to swallow, but the motion stuck, thick and useless. His lips parted, trembling as he forced out words that were barely a whisper.

“W-what do you want?” he stammered, desperation coating every syllable. “I’m Ethan Russ, I’m a writer. I don’t — I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.”

Words tumbled out, choked and raw. His voice was a broken whisper, splintering with every breath. Fear gripped him so tight he could barely speak. His mind clung to any excuse, any plea that might make sense to them, might make them stop. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking, “Please… I didn’t — I don’t know what you want! I didn’t do anything wrong! Please, just… stop, just let me go…”

Tears welled up behind his blindfold, but they couldn’t fall. The fabric was too tight against his swollen, bloodshot eyes, pressing his emotions back into his skull where they festered alongside the pain. His whole body trembled as he sat there, his plea hanging in the air, vulnerable and pathetic.

“What do you want? What do you want? Please… what do you want?” Each question came out broken, desperate, pleading for an answer he was too terrified to hear.

Silence stretched out, thick and suffocating. Ethan waited, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The hands on his shoulders tightened their grip, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he thought they might snap his bones just to prove how powerless he really was.

No answer came.

The only sound was the slow, deliberate drag of a cigarette. The exhale was slow, menacing, like the man was savoring Ethan’s helplessness.

Ethan waited, every muscle in his body tensed as the silence dragged on. His mind raced, searching desperately for clues in the darkness behind the blindfold — voices, footsteps, any sign of who or what surrounded him. His head moved instinctively, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything. He couldn’t shake the dread pressing down on him, suffocating in its intensity.

Then, without warning, a fist crashed into his face. Pain exploded across his jaw as his teeth rattled in his gums. He felt something give way, loose, and a metallic taste flooded his mouth. Blood. He heard it splatter against the floor before he had time to register the agony. Then another blow, this time to his stomach. It felt like a hammer had struck his insides, all the air ripped from his lungs in a brutal instant. His mouth gaped open, desperate to draw breath, but nothing came. His lungs burned, his chest heaved, but it was like the air had vanished from the room.

Ethan’s body barely moved, his limbs too heavy and painful to respond. Every twitch was a struggle, more of a weak spasm than an actual attempt to escape. He was slumped, barely able to shift in the chair, his muscles seizing with the effort.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his hair, yanking his head back with a force that sent a sharp sting shooting up his neck. He squirmed, sluggish and disjointed, each movement causing him to wince in agony. His sense of direction was skewed; his efforts to pull away felt clumsy, his limbs barely responding to his brain’s frantic signals.

Hot breath washed over his face, thick with the scent of strong tobacco. “You will tell me who you are, or I will kill everyone you love in front of you.”

The voice was cold, dripping with malice. Ethan’s heart hammered in his chest, panic flooding his veins. The words echoed in his skull, the threat sinking in like ice. He tried to speak, tried to defend himself, to beg, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

“I told you —” he began, but the words were cut off.

A hand clamped down over his face, prying his mouth open with brutal force. Rough fingers seized his tongue, yanking it outward, the stretch sending sharp pain through his jaw. Ethan’s scream broke free, raw and guttural, but it died as soon as a searing heat pressed against his exposed tongue. A cigarette or a cigar — still glowing red — singed the soft flesh. The burn was unbearable, scorching white-hot pain through his mouth, the taste of ash and charred skin mixing with blood.

His scream turned into a choked, muffled cry as his tongue was forced out, unable to speak, only to suffer. The taste of ash and blood filled his mouth, the acrid bitterness of the tobacco mixing with the salty tang of his own blood.

Just as suddenly, the burning stopped. Then something was shoved into his mouth — the unlit tobacco. The bitterness of it was overwhelming, and the thick taste clung to his tongue, taunting him. A rough hand clamped down over his face, sealing his lips, forcing the vile object to roll around inside his mouth.

Ethan’s muffled screams filled the room, but they were drowned out by the suffocating hand. His mind screamed in despair, his body drenched in sweat, blood oozing from his mouth. He could feel his dignity slip away entirely, swallowed by the terror and humiliation. His body trembled uncontrollably. He swore he could feel the wetness pooling beneath him, but he couldn’t tell if it was blood, sweat, or worse.

In that moment, something inside him broke. The realization hit him like a hammer to the chest.

There was no escape. No rescue. No hope.

He was trapped, utterly alone in this nightmare. His voice, his body, his mind — none of it mattered anymore.

Just then, the warmth of the sun soaked into his skin, gentle and golden, like a soft blanket on a cold day. Ethan could feel the weight of the day slip away as he sat by the window, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of fresh flowers from outside. His fingers were intertwined with hers, their hands resting together on her lap. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair brushing softly against his cheek, and for a moment, everything in the world felt right. Her laughter echoed around him, light and carefree, a sound he thought he’d never hear again…

Laughter, soft and genuine, escaped her lips as she turned to look up at him. Her eyes sparkled, filled with a happiness so pure it seemed to light up the entire room. Ethan smiled back, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, one he hadn’t worn in what felt like years. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as his thumb traced the delicate line of her cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice like music, calm and inviting.

Ethan chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gazed at her. “You. Always you.”

She blushed, a soft pink blooming on her cheeks, and she leaned in closer, pressing her lips against his in a gentle, lingering kiss. It was soft and sweet, like the touch of a memory he never wanted to lose. When she pulled back, her eyes held his, searching, as if she could see all the parts of him that no one else ever could.

“I love you, Ethan,” she whispered, her words tender, her hand tightening its hold on his. “Always have.”

He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t speak, didn’t need to. The moment was too perfect to break with words. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with a tenderness that said everything he couldn’t. She smiled, that same radiant smile that always made him feel like the luckiest man alive, and nestled into him once more, her arms wrapping around him like a safe, familiar embrace.

They sat there, just the two of them, wrapped in the soft glow of the fading day, the quiet sound of birds outside, the rustle of the breeze through the trees. It was a moment that felt eternal, untouched by the world’s harshness. Peaceful. Whole.

Ethan let out a contented sigh, his heart full. This — this was everything he had ever wanted. A life with her. Moments like this. The simple joy of being together, of knowing she was his, and he was hers.

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of her beside him, the feel of her heartbeat steady against his. He lipped her name softly, barely a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“Anna…”

And just like that, the perfect world began to slip away.

Ethan was lost in the dream, in the warmth of the woman’s presence, her laughter like a balm to his soul. The world of pain and blood had melted away, replaced by the softness of her touch, the light in her eyes. Anna… Her name on his lips felt like salvation, a lifeline pulling him from the depths of his suffering. He clung to the memory, refusing to let go, as if holding onto her could protect him from everything he was enduring.

But reality has a cruel way of creeping in.

A sharp, brutal punch landed on his ribs, yanking him from the peaceful moment with violent force. The sudden throbbing shattered the illusion, dragging him back into the cold, suffocating present. He gagged on the bitter taste of the tobacco, his throat tightening as it threatened to suffocate him. His body convulsed, instinctively trying to rid itself of the vile substance. Ethan’s attempt to spit it out was more a clumsy, painful effort. His jaw ached with every movement, and his spit was more a weak dribble than a controlled action. The cigar fell from his mouth with a sickening splat, a barely coherent mess. The floor beneath him felt real again — cold, unforgiving, slick with his blood. The world he had escaped to gone, replaced by the nightmare he couldn’t flee.

More blows rained down on him, each one more brutal than the last. Every breath was a laborious struggle, his chest feeling like it was filled with lead. Each gasp for air came out ragged and shallow, his body barely able to draw in enough oxygen between the crushing blows. His mind fought against the pain, clinging to the memory of Anna, to the peace he had felt just moments ago, but it was slipping away, fading into the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

He could feel the edges of consciousness blurring, his body on the verge of shutting down. His muscles twitched involuntarily, too weak to even flinch at the next hit. The taste of blood filled his mouth, thick and metallic, coating his tongue. His body screamed for relief, for an end, but it was as though he was suspended in a loop of torment, hovering between wakefulness and the sweet release of unconsciousness.

Just when he thought he might finally be allowed to fall into oblivion, the beating slowed. The hands holding him down loosened, the relentless assault easing for the briefest moment. He welcomed the pause, his broken body sagging, defeated. Maybe they would stop. Maybe they’d had enough. Maybe —

The voice came again, the same cold, deep voice that haunted his worst moments. This time, it was even more sinister, dripping with malice.

“Find this Anna person.”

Ethan’s heart, which had been pounding weakly in his chest, seemed to stop entirely. His eyes, swollen and useless, widened beneath the blindfold as the words sank in. Anna. They were talking about her now. The one person in the world he still had left.

“No…” The word came out in a cracked, desperate whisper, barely audible through the blood in his throat. Panic surged through him, giving him a brief jolt of energy. He struggled, though his body was too broken to move more than an inch.

He knew what these people were capable of. They would find her. And they would do to her what they had done to him — worse, perhaps. The thought twisted his insides, igniting a new kind of terror, one far worse than any physical torture he had endured.

The room fell silent except for Ethan’s shallow, panicked breathing. He wanted to scream, to fight, but his body refused him. His heart pounded against his ribs, the echo of the command ringing in his ears.

Anna.

His last thought before the darkness swallowed him was of her face — the smile, the warmth. He had to protect her. He had to warn her.

But it was too late.

And then, everything went black.