Established [1]

The next 6 months were brimmed with work. El, didn't get a day's break. He very soon realised that Tress was an oddity. Most prisoners were easy to open up but they were cycled so often that it didn't matter. After discovering his competence, the minister had been bringing in even more prisoners. El would sometimes interrogate six to seven prisoners a day. The rest of the day had to be spent maintaining his physique, not that it was something the minister had asked him to do but this left him with minimal sleep after.

The days had finally started seeming routine. Well, the closest it could be to the routine since the experience he had with each prisoner was different. While the spars he had back in the regiment were also unique from day to day it wasn't as drastic. He could find a sense of normalcy in it. He had grown numb to torturing people but he still couldn't think of it as normal.

Today he had two prisoners to interrogate a lax number comparatively to his experience with the job. The first was a gentleman who killed his master when he fired him for getting sick. He wasn't brought here for interrogation as much as torture. El had been given a few of these sorts of prisoners. The question he was supposed to ask was not one anyone could answer. It was a twisted form of revenge the nobles took. Out of all such prisoners, there was only one that El deemed deserving of death. The injustice of the empire was one thing that shined brightly in the darkness of prison. 'It's rather poetic, but I am certain that dictator Arte would condemn such cruelty and pettiness. Too bad I work for the piglet.' He had thought.

He entered cell number 37, wearing black trousers, black gloves and a white shirt that threatened to break free of him because Maeve insisted on it no matter how many he accidentally ripped or stained. The woman was the only acquaintance he had the guardsman and servants avoided him after the incident with Valena. Maeve however, was the opposite she sought him out at every opportunity. He wasn't especially fond of this habit, he found it tiresome but he put up with it for she was still his superior.

A rather beat-up man sat inside. His face was swollen. It was best to get it done with, these types of prisoners bored El. Torture in general bored him because it wasn't an evenly matched bout. The sessions with actual information to gain were intriguing for he got bits and pieces of stories but this was just tedious.

"Where's the corpse of the Count's youngest son." Yelled El, the count's son was spry and well but that was the pretence for the torture. The man quivered his eyes widening, obviously surprised. El bashed his skull against the wall, twice over stunning his victim as El lifted him by his ankles. Clung him upended to a hook that was on the ceiling.

The hook dug deep into the leg of the wailing prey while El hid the laceration with rope for good measure. This particular method was one El enjoyed, it allowed him to revise his combat techniques. He treated the prisoner as a punchbag. "I didn't kill his son…I only killed him." He tried explaining in between sobs. His words fell on deaf ears, the attacks only got harsher after El shouted "LIAR!".

The more El's blows connected the more his leg would tear, and blood would trickle but it didn't bother him much. The prisoner, however, upon realising this intensified his struggle not unaware of how that assisted El. The prisoner pleaded with him but this exasperated El shut him up with a rag before he plunged a knife into his back. "Hold this for me, kay?" he said.

He then moved on to another prisoner. Next on his list was a more common case, it was a man who had stolen jewellery from his neighbour and sold it. Cell 14. All it took to break the man was a bit of roughhousing, he hadn't bled a single drop. "I sold it to Mister Gerund," he confessed. He didn't need to kill him, unlike Tress, his victim wasn't related to the dictator. So he was able to get off easy with just a last punch to the gut.

He returned to cell 37. The man was still sobbing with short breaths. "Are you finally ready to speak?" He asked. He shook his head, what he meant was ambiguous. El took it as a sign of refusal. "If you aren't going to speak I suppose I'll just take that." He muttered audibly. He took out a tongue tearer, removed the rag and he inserted the tool into his mouth while he forced his jaw open. He got a grip on the man's tongue and he pulled back violently tearing the muscle out of the mouth. Warm ruby melt leaked passed his chapped lips, while his lower body leaked golden rain, which El evaded.

El then cut out many slits across the man's body, taking care to do it a few as sluggishly as possible, while others deeper and more fiercely. Unpredictability amplified the pain. He then left the corridor for the day. He didn't need to kill the bloke, death would come naturally to him. The minister liked it when he prolonged the suffering. Hence his body count had only risen by ten. More died but typically it was due to starvation or infection.

Waiting in front of his door stood, Maeve. She was holding a schedule, her pigtails braided, a hand resting on her hip and a foot anxiously tapping away. Due to her persistent presence, he was familiar with her, thus he could spot the irregularity. Maeve was typically a very calm and collected person in most situations. For her uneasiness to become visible it meant that a most dire situation had befallen her.

Worried he asked, "Umm…is everything all right?" Like a startled rabbit she jumped up, she had evidently been unaware of him. "You're really acting strange."

She took a moment to consider this, before feebly replying "No, you're imagining that. Anyway, the minister wanted to let you know that you're suspended from your duties for a bit. You'll have a single focus, you're to break it but you mustn't kill it. Make it admit to the arson and massacre at the Mojave Fortress. " She emphasised the last part.

El's eyebrows crinkled at her words, and they confused him, 'What on Hydrosterra am I questioning and why has it affected her so much.' He wondered. He dragged her to the room, "Tell me the truth, Mae, I know you've been told not to."

He had caught her, her panic translated into her voice as she stared off into a corner and replied, "I don't know what you're-"

El cut her off "Don't insult my intelligence, I was aware of the secrets between us but I respected that. However, now that you're all anxiety riddled I can't just ignore it…you're the first person I've tolerated." The power of his voice dwindled as he finished.

"Ugh…you idiot. You can't tell me that! You may be an adult but you really are naïve to how deranged you make me look. You say such sweet things without wanting me." She rebuked him storming away.

'What did I do wrong? Was that not what a friend would have done?' He couldn't understand her or himself. 'Why did I say that? Isn't she an annoyance? Why does her sadness affect me?' It made no sense to him.

He toyed with a strand of hair as he sat on the cold floor in thought. His stygian hair now grazed his bronze cheeks, framing his face in a rough manner and his stubble had annoyingly started to return. Combined with his starless inclined eyes, flat facial expression and broad figure he seemed more primed than his reality. 'I don't believe I did anything wrong. I simply wished to help.' He concluded

Pondering the possibility of the new subject was of no use hence, he retired early, it was evening but he sought the comfort of the dark. He would skip dinner, the servants would understand and leave since the door's locked. His dreams, however, were not what he expected, the usual dark didn't come. Instead, he dreamt of a lady who was veiled, through which he vaguely saw her eyes. They glowed despite being absolutely devoid of light. Two objects pushed against the hood of her cloak, he couldn't see what they were but the outline against the fabric was visible. Her voice was cold and hurt, she was running from something. Not just her, he realised soon after. He too was running away from something, yet he could not see what. A fog chased them and the pursuers lay behind it. They threw Molotov cocktails which burst into flames upon contact with the ground. The mist eventually caught up to them and they stabbed him, he saw a glimpse of a face. It was the minister.

He woke up in a cold sweat, the details of the nightmare weren't clear but he remembered the summary of events and the minister. He wasn't sure what to feel about it. This was the first nightmare he has experienced since he was eight. El wasn't taught to be superstitious but the dream left an awful gut feeling. Still, he convinced himself to once again explore his dreamscape.