The child didn't feel any different. it was the normal routine. It kept repeating. Over and over and over and over. Irregular repetitions.
He didn't have any concept of day or night. It was meaningless to him anyway.
The routine usually had a lot of variations so he couldn't remember much. What he did remember were the normal times where the contents were consistent.
Unlike other children, the child's hands weren't curled up and fisted. The palms were wide open. That had a reason too. He forgot how to use them.
Fingers were very sensitive. Fingertips were especially so. The 'Oomans' liked using metal things to crush his fingers. They liked doing it slowly. He was used to it. That must be why lately they started injecting a strange fluid into his bloodstream.
The serum increased sensitivity. Once they were done pulling out the digits, they'd start on the next target.
They'd pull and pull until his limbs tore off; sometimes even twist if they were up for it. Then they'd wait.
All wounds would regenerate. Then they'd smash his head in and slowly let him savour the pain as they sent strong rythymic pulses of high voltage electricity while cutting and spilling his insides all over the place. That would last for quite a while. Then they would stop. And wait. And while the waited, they would show him things. Illusions to be precise.
Those illusions were simply created with the help of a simple technique and augmented with drugs. He was happy. Those illusions were happy with him. They were messy.
He'd have fun. He'd have an imaginary sanctuary within an imaginary embrace. It was a freezing warmth. He yearned and yearned, not knowing the difference between reality and the freezing warmth of the induced delusions.
Then moments after feeling all the feelings he could feel, they'd take it away from him. Rob the child of his painful and bitter dreams.
Then he'd beg. Cry and throw a tantrum. Bite his fingers till they were bloody and tear out his flesh till his bones were visible. Vomit out bile and start dry heaving. It was irresitable to the starved child. Like sweet candy.
And then when he couldn't go on anymore, they'd give him a stronger pleasure. He would writhe and tremble in pain being seized with seizures all the while gasping and hiccuping. His heart would hurt as they enjoyed his dance.
That would go on for a while till he was spent, exhausted of all his energy. The effect still persisted but his body couldn't hold on.
Once they were done with the body, they'd start on the soul. The child only had half a soul. The other half was missing. They didn't care though.
After invoking a special formation, he would be tied down. Then they'd proceed to rip the half to shreds. Of course it took a lot of energy. A tear the size of a fingernail was enough to make a healthy youth to a vegetable. The child endured it for seven years.
His was already fragmented.
----------×-----------
" Demon. An absolute monster," said the newbie.
" Do ya envy him?" asked the bushy bearded man. "No."
" Why don't they finish him off?"
" Orders from the top brass."
They were silent after that.
" Why would they keep such a thing?"
" Nations are greedy."
The newbie was startled. " Are they making it a weapon?"
" Yer are awful nosy."
" Just curious. "
Just then another slender looking man came in. "What's the status?"
" Little demon's been foaming at the mouth since a while. Eyes dilated. He's awful quiet."
"I see. Anything else?"
" No."
The slender man walked away. Probably off to report to the higherups that no anomalities were detected.
The night was silent. Just like any other night. The Facility too, was silent. No one in the outside world knew what exactly happened within those walls. Except maybe the Rulers and Fedual Lords. All that was known is that it was Hell on Earth.
Criminals, mental patients, black money, prostitutes. Anything and everything was found there. Some said it conducted inhumane experiments on any living creature they could obtain. A perfect example would be humans.
The lone cell was quiet too. The child was still. His knuckles were in his mouth and he Was curled up in a ball. Was he dead? If he were, then the people would rejoice. The Brass wouldn't be too happy though.
The stillness was comforting. The taste of his fingers and the sweetness of blood. Those were his pacifiers. They made him want to sleep. But he couldnt sleep. If he did then it would become noisy. And noise was not nice. It made his ears bleed.
Tonight, he slept wide awake.