Blood by My Hand

A/N: I designed the chapters so that all of the rape stuff in the story's current history is in this chapter. I warn anyone who hasn't read my rape fics before, this section gets awefully brutal. Don't take the warning lightly. I don't want to give anything away, but there's a part toward the end of the chapter that I think could make a couple of male readers wince. After this, it lightens back up a bit (aside from some psychological Norman angst). If you don't like this section, that's cool, just skim through it and hang on until I get the next thing up.



That night at midnight, the masked trio showed up again. Same as before, they sat around whispering and playing cards, but they never let their voices rise high enough for Norman to listen in. He would, however, have been able to hear the occasional chuckle. At about the same time as before, they all got up again and walked into the cell.



He didn't even bother standing this time. "Hello, gentlemen. Is this going to become a routine?"



One of the men actually laughed at that, but the one with the larger build of the three nudged him hard with an elbow. It was these two that stepped forward and grabbed the prisoner by the arms this time. Last night had been a warm up, to see if they could get away with it. This was what they'd really been planning to do. They hauled him off the cement structure and forced him to his knees again, pinning him face down over it this time.



"My back this time. How methodical of you." He had better leverage like this, and he straightened suddenly, trying to throw them off.



The men held him as best they could while the third produced a chain they used to bind him to the bed frame, wrapping it once around each arm so he couldn't slide out from under it backwards. It was then crossed under the bench-like structure once and each end was attached to the cuffs he still wore. He certainly didn't make this easy, though. They ended up taking advantage of his established weak point again to get it done.



He snarled and fought them, using his legs whenever they were in range. Only a sharp blow to the scars rendered him still for a few moments. By the time he was bound down, his back was set in rigid spasm, bruised and stiff.



The man behind him paused briefly. Osborn often seemed more animal than human anymore. He probably wasn't even completely aware of what they were doing to him. So what was the point? Then again, whether or not the prisoner was aware, something about it would still give the man in the mask a twisted sort of satisfaction. A kind of catharsis. It was with this in mind that the figure produced the knife and began cutting away the tattered remains of the prisoner's clothes.



"What are you doing?" Norman asked in a low, dangerous voice. Twisting his head, he could see the man out of the corner of his eye.



The man had brought a condom, so it would be harder to trace the act back to him, if anybody cared enough to try. He brought it out, unzipping his pants. All of them watched Osborn, knowing he would try to retaliate.



The sound made him buck against the restraints, kicking out violently at the man behind him. This was not to be borne, he was not in control here. "Get away from me, boy," he growled.



The smaller of the other two laughed again and struck their prisoner on the head. The third remained close enough that the kicks couldn't get much power behind them. It made it difficult, yes, and a little painful, but there was something fulfilling in watching this once powerful man struggle and squirm. He knelt behind him, pushing his legs apart with his knees.



Norman writhed, kicking him hard in the back of the thigh. "Get away!" he shouted, almost a roar. "You miserable excuse for flesh, do NOT touch me!"



The man snarled a bit behind the mask, and then looked at the other two. The larger one came to help hold down Norman's legs while the other went back to the door. The only thing he could come up with was some rope, but it didn't have to hold for days or anything. Just an hour or less, really, would do it. They tied one end around Norman's leg and brought the other end under and around the frame support to tie it to his other leg.



He thrashed against them, but he was well pinned, his legs held wide by the rope. "You'll all die for this, you and your families and your friends!"



The man grinned behind his mask. He'd never done this before, but it didn't seem too complicated, and it wasn't like he cared about being gentle or not. Putting on the condom, he thrust into Osborn without missing a beat.



Norman howled in rage, his muscular back arching under the man's hands. He surged against the restraints, trying to change, and the inhibitor collar activated, shocking both him and his rapist violently.



The assailant's mouth opened in a soundless scream and he convulsed before falling back. The other two jumped back, and there was a pause that the smaller one broke with a chuckle, followed by a full out laugh. This petered out to snickers muffled by the back of his hand when his larger friend elbowed him again.



Norman gasped for breath, sparks still playing over him from the collar. "Heh," he panted finally when they abated. "I dare you to try that again."



Growling, the larger one moved to untie Osborn. He was a tough nut to crack, but they'd do it. Tomorrow they would be better prepared. However, his partner stopped him with a shake of the head, pushing him to a corner of the cell.

"Just leave him," Jack whispered. "No one'll care. People torture war prisoners all the time."

"You're wreckless," Derek argued. "If we go too far, it could come back to bite us."

"Hey, trust me. Half the people here despise that guy to no end. They'll cover, and Fury's tangled up in all kinds of higher level shit right now. Just leave him."

And they did, calling in medical attention for the third man, and that was it for the rest of that night.



Norman kept testing his restraints through the night, growling threats at the guards the entire time. He would kill them. Slowly. By skinning. And their loved ones. And their children.



The rest of the day, the guards seemed to pay a little more attention to him, casting the occasional glance his way. There was more laughter among them than usual as well. The story about the man last night was spreading among the personnel who watched him. Norman was a proud man. More than one of these people wanted to be the one to knock him down a couple pegs. That night the masked Jack and Derek returned early, with two new followers.



He didn't acknowledge them when they first entered the cell, except for a single flick of his eyes. "Any man who touches me will meet the same fate as Guard Gullible last night," he said calmly, shutting his eyes again.



Jack raised the bat he'd brought along that time. Wood didn't conduct electricity. He brought it down hard, only aiming enough to not hit the collar. Other than that, he didn't really care.



Osborn shouted as it caught him in the ribs, knocking him breathless. The collar cut short another quick effort at transformation, jolting him as he screamed threats.



One of the newcomers moved around to the other side with his own bat. The idea was to beat Osborn until he couldn't concentrate enough to attempt transformation. The fourth man was the one just daring, or dumb, enough to be the guinea pig. Either way, there was twenty bucks in it for him if he went through with it.



Stuck as a human, Norman was still a powerful man, but restrained and bludgeoned, it wasn't long until he was moaning, trying to curl up and protect his head. Broken ribs lent a gasping, wet sound to his breathing, and he lay limp in his chains.



The fourth man came forward and knelt, unzipping his pants as he did so. The gasping creature in front of him would not get away with making fools of them. They would break him, physically and mentally.



Despite his injuries, he growled half-heartedly at them, clenching his hips. "Do not dare...."



But he did dare, positioning his cock. He'd been dared to do this. He pushed in more slowly, though, ready to jerk back at the first sign of electricity.



Norman bucked against him, trying to dislodge him, but there was no hint of a transformation or the subsequent shock. "No!" he howled, seeming to regain some of his strength.



The rapist's thrusts built in speed with his assurance. The big bad goblin was trapped, now. The murderer wasn't a threat.



He struggled, threatening his broken ribs. "Get off me! You'll die for this, you worms!"



The man would have loved to verbally taunt Osborn as well, but they were building a code of silence. They would communicate with hand gestures. That way if the shit did hit the fan, none of them would be able to identify the others involved. So, he settled for the rape, ramming in and holding deep when he climaxed.



Norman howled again, and finally gathered the resources to try a transformation, with the same result as before. The shock made him scream in agony, but if it got the man out of him, it was worth it.



It did make the man pull out of him, yes, but it only mildly amused Jack. Norman was hurting himself the most with this stubborn pride. However, this time Derek had talked Jack into unchaining the man after, which Jack did. Derek himself had gone away at some point during the proceedings, and now returned with an orange jumper. This he tossed half heartedly on the floor of the cell before helping his fallen comrade up and out.



It took Norman a while to get to his feet, but he determinedly drew himself upright. The feel of fluid running down the back of his thighs made him flinch, but he did not show shame. Instead, he used the rags of his original clothes to clean himself up before pulling on the new article. He was stiff, his movements slow and deliberate, but when he was done, he sat back on his excuse for a bed, to all appearances unaffected. The only evidence of the night's torture was the bruises on his face and wrists.



Derek was alone and maskless when he returned the next morning. He came right up to the force field and stood, watching the man on the other side, but his purpose this morning wouldn't require going in there.



Norman met his gaze, expressionless and cold, and unmoving. "Can I help you?"



"I thought I might give you another chance to tell us where Octavius is."



He smiled hollowly. "No."



"What is it? Are you that loyal to him, or are you just that stubborn?"



"Yes."



He crossed one arm and put his hand to his chin. "You know that you're only hurting yourself with this foolishness. Don't you think if Octavius cared, he would have tried to do something about it by now?"



"You know nothing."



"This is your last chance. It will only get worse after I walk out of here."



"I want to speak to Fury. I don't have time to waste on grunts like you."



"Fury's busy with larger scale terrorists. It's just you, me, and Jack in this one."



"Mm. Pity you and Jack will fail. Parker is probably dead by now, thanks to your blundering about."



Derek shook his head. "All right. I can see you've made your choice." On his way out, he paused to tell the guards on duty that they were to cut off Norman's drinking water.



Norman sank back into a thoughtful state, ignoring the world outside his cell for the time being.



That night the number involved in the torture group had grown again. Six men, with chains, a stick, and a bat, in addition to the usual guns. They didn't even give the pretense of going on the usual guard, heading straight for the cell instead.



Norman stood directly in front of his door, waiting for them. The first one to enter, he attacked.



He put his arms up over his face, staggering back. The other five flooded in and in turn jumped Osborn, grabbing at him and trying to drag him off.



He fought them ferociously, but he was bruised and sore still from the night before, and the cracked ribs made him more vulnerable.



The room was filled almost to capacity with all of them in there. They closed in on him and wrestled him to the bed, four of them pinning his arms and legs. After the one he had attacked recomposed himself, he reached into a jacket pocket to pull out a capped syringe and a vial of clear, yellowish liquid.



Osborn thrashed, making them use all their weight to keep him pinned. Fighting like a madman, he arched off the bed, almost winning his way free.



The man with the needle filled it and moved to kneel by the prisoner's head. His free hand pushed and held Norman's head to the side, but he would have to be quick about it. With the way Norman was thrashing, there was a danger of the needle breaking off in his neck. Holding the needle in one fist, he stabbed it into the flesh between Norman's jaw and the collar, pressing the plunger with his thumb.



He ranted furiously, struggling against them. "You scum! Release me!" The collar sparked, but then the drug caught him, and he groaned as spikes of pain shot through his head. He stopped trying to transform, the pain breaking his concentration, and the agony eased.



Jack made a few hand gestures and the other five turned their attention to the zipper on the jumper, pulling it down. Osborn hadn't yielded much to physical pain. The man had cracked ribs, for crying out loud, and he was still fighting, willing to electrocute himself if he had to. They knew they had to attack his pride.



Norman didn't yield, fighting whenever he had the slightest opportunity. He resisted as they stripped him again, shouting in rage. "Get your hands off of me!"



Jack laughed, coming forward once the orange cloth was cast aside to secure Osborn's wrists with the chains. How was he going to make them, really? If the drug worked, even the collar trick would do no good. Two other men hooked the bat under Osborn's knees and used it to pull them up to his chest, pinning them.



If looks could kill, they would all be painfully dead. Osborn strained against the chains and the bat, throwing all his strength into straightening.



The men on the bat had better leverage, though, and they put their combined weights into keeping him in the position. As the one with the stick stepped up to the foot of the bed, the two who had been holding his wrists moved down to spread Norman's ass cheeks. They were testing the drug, seeing if it really was the answer to getting the better of this headstrong animal. The end of the stick pressed against Norman's anus, all of them watching for his reaction.



He arched, fighting with all of his strength, but six to one were odds too high. Even Norman Osborn couldn't throw them off. When he'd proved to himself that it was a lost cause, he stilled, staring hatefully past the men standing over him, his nostrils flaring.



Jack laughed again as they pushed the stick into him, fucking him with it. Derek wasn't there, so Jack didn't bother resisting the urge to taunt him verbally. "How does the gay goblin like that, huh?" He grinned behind the mask.



He gritted his teeth as the rough tree branch tore sensitive flesh, coated in blood in moments. Being helpless like this, out of control like this, that was just as much a rape as what they were doing to his body. Something weaker than fury flashed across his face for a moment.



"You don't mean shit to anyone, you know," Jack continued. "We can find the others without you, and then you and Octavius will both rot out whatever's left of your useless lives down here." The investigation had gone on, after all, using evidence from the house, with or without Fury or Osborn.



Norman shook his head, laughing hollowly. "You'll never find them." His body shook, rejecting the impaling weapon.



"Oh, I don't believe in never."

The man with the stick stopped and pulled it out. The two with the bat released Norman's legs, only to bring them down and secure them with the other chain. Jack continued to oversee the operation while two of the men took new positions, one standing over Norman's head and the other down by his stomach.



"What's the point of this?" he asked, no longer fighting.



The two men standing over him pulled out their cocks and started stroking them.

"I'm pretty sure you know everyone's opinion of you here."



He shut his eyes, a disgusted snarl fixed on his face. "As if it mattered to me."



It would, though, but Jack didn't answer that one. The two men got themselves off quickly, glazing Norman's face and stomach.



He turned his face away from them, shaking with revulsion.



After they zipped up, Jack led them all out, leaving Norman chained and sticky on the cement slab.



"Hard to conceal what you're doing, if you leave me here like this," he called after them.



"If we were concerned, we'd do something about it," was Jack's response. The next shift was aware of the situation. They would take care of unchaining him when they came in.



Sighing in a show of impatience, Norman forced his hands to relax out of their tight fists. He had no choice but wait.



At around four in the morning, five people came in to unchain him, starting with his ankles. "Busy night?" One smirked.



He didn't react, just staring at the ceiling, unblinking.



The agents looked at each other, the one who was unchaining him raising an eyebrow. The other nodded, putting a hand on his gun as Osborn's wrists were freed.



He lunged the moment he could, reaching first for the man with the gun. The injuries were noticeably slowing him down, but if he could just get his hands on it...



They were prepared for something of that sort. Before he could get a hand on the watchman, one of the others jabbed him between the shoulders with a tazer. Almost simultaneously, a shot rang out as a bullet tore into his knee.



He convulsed, jerking away from the tazer and the bed. His destroyed leg collapsed under him, leaving him in a heap on the floor.



"Hey," the guard grinned and shrugged, "you tried to attack us." Laughing a little amongst themselves, they moved to their posts and turned the security system on again.



Norman dragged himself back up onto the bed in silence, his arms shaking. He'd never been at such a disadvantage. "Brutes," he muttered, wrapping his hands around his leg to try and stop the bleeding.



Another day passed under the cold, scrutinizing eyes of the SHIELD agents, with no water and still no food. Midnight only brought back the dark, faceless figures, armed with another dose of the mutation suppressing drug.



The dehydration was doing as much as anything else. He greeted them listlessly, once more dressed, but not standing. His leg hung off the edge of the bed, the leg of the suit soaked dark red with dried blood.



"Ready for round four, faggot?" Jack asked. Derek was there once more, but he'd pretty much given up on making Jack follow the code of silence. They'd all decided without really talking about it that if Jack wanted to risk crucifying himself, it was his business.



He watched him dispassionately. "I still don't know what this pathetic display is supposed to accomplish."



"No? Well, don't worry, I'm sure you'll get it eventually."

They pinned Norman again, not quite so hard as it had been other nights, and Derek jabbed the needle in his neck.



He retched this time when the drug hit his system, throwing up yellow stomach acid onto Derek. "Ggnnh.... Poison?"



Derek jerked back, scowling behind the mask. He didn't know if it was intended or not, but he was going to get Osborn for it.

Jack ignored Derek's response. "Yeah, you wish... It's an experimental drug. Hopefully a replacement for the collars some day, when the side effects are worked out."



Spitting to clear the taste from his mouth, Norman leaned back against the wall of the cell and shut his eyes. His head was spinning. "S'not working."



The men all looked at each other and Jack raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "Oh? Prove it."



"No desire to get shocked again, thank you. It's very unpleasant," he said slowly, smiling.



Jack wouldn't give up that easily, and he was already suspicious. "If you make the collar go off, we'll leave you alone."



Norman stiffened, trying to set off the change. But the moment stretched, nothing happening. His smile faded.



Derek jerked his head at the other men and they closed in again, two grabbing his arms while the other two started to strip him.



He struggled as best he was able, but his bruises and breaks had all stiffened. "Get your hands off of me!"



"Does that ever work?" Jack asked as they dragged Norman off the bed and pushed him over it on his back.



He shouted wordlessly as his knee hit the floor, smearing blood there. It took the fight out of him, and he lay there gulping for breath.



"There you go. Scream like a little girl." One of the men grabbed Norman's head to hold it still while Jack pulled a tube of lipstick out of his pocket. Two others held his arms.



He kicked with his good leg, but he couldn't reach any of them, couldn't twist much. His chest was a mass of purple bruising, as was his leg from thigh to ankle.



Uncapping the lipstick, Jack knelt over Norman and smeared it across his lips. It was bright red.



He strained against the man holding his head, the tendons in his neck standing out. He jerked, trying to bite his fingers.



"Uhoh, looks like the little bitch is a biter," Jack jeered, grabbing Norman's jaw with his free hand. "Good thing to know in advance, though." He went on to draw a big red circle on each of Norman's cheeks, and then used it as a makeshift eye shadow. "Aw, look at the pretty little bitch now. All dolled up..."



"You disgusting pervert," he growled, and spat at the man.



Jack started to respond but one of the other figures put a hand on his shoulder, nudging him aside. As this man knelt over Norman, he pulled out a butterfly knife, opening it two neat flicks of his wrist.



Osborn wrenched at the men holding him down, and stopped, moaning, when ribs shifted with a grating sound. His skin was warm to the touch, and dry. "Get off of me."



The blade pressed against the prisoner's chest, drawing a short line, and then another, making an L. It continued slicing ruthlessly into the flesh canvas, carving "Little Bitch" in drippy crimson letters.



He tried to stay stoic, but his breath kept catching in short, pained jerks that hurt his ribs. "I'll.... I'll... I'll kill all of you," he panted through gritted teeth.



"Yeah, yeah..." Jack waved it off. Derek elbowed Jack and held up his flashlight. Grinning slightly, Jack nodded before saying to the others, "Flip the little bitch over."



He screamed when one of them grabbed his knee, and they had no difficulty manhandling him onto his stomach, bent over the edge of the bed. "Kill.... kill you," he kept gasping, pressing his forehead against the concrete.



A dark figure moved around behind him, undoing his fly. Empty threats. Osborn was at their twisted mercy now. He dropped to his knees behind him, running a finger down Norman's spine as he did so. This finger continued down to push against the prisoner's entrance.



He writhed, trying to get away from the intruder, moaning in pain. "Don't...."



The finger withdrew for a few moments, but was soon replaced by the head of his cock.



"Get out!" he snarled, struggling vainly. "Get off of me!" He was still bloody from the violation with the stick, but the man didn't seem to care.



The man pressed into him all the way before pulling half way out. Parting Osborn's cheeks, he bent slightly to spit on his cock where it joined with the other man before pushing in again. He fucked him slowly, despite Osborn's struggles, holding his hips.



This was worse than the other rape because, as the man hit his prostate, his body began to respond. His snarls increased in volume and fury, covering the shame. "Get your diseased body off of me before I tear you to bloody shreds!" he howled.



But the assault didn't stop. In fact, the agent only fucked him faster. Osborn was a filthy, murdering creature. Below them. They'd put the arrogant bastard in his place. As the rape continued, his hand moved to wrap around the prisoner's cock. It was getting hard, apparently.



He bucked up against him, trying to escape his touch. "No! NO!" His entire body was tense, tight with resistance.



The hand squeezed a little, the agent grinning. Five other pairs of eyes watched this scene, all showing varying degrees of amusement.



He jerked, squeezing his eyes shut. The pleasure was so unwelcome it was painful, making him moan again.



The hand began to move with the rapist's thrusts. Norman's aversion and resistance only seemed to encourage him, and he pounded the prisoner harder and harder. A few final, deep thrusts marked his climax, the violating hand tightening again.



Panting, his face pressed against the bench, Norman was close to his own climax. It took all his self control not to move against the hand, not to push that final inch. He was trembling with it, silent now.



The agent stayed in him, though he had stilled, and the hand started moving again, insistent.



"No..." he breathed, almost a plea, but then his back arched as his body went rigid, and with a bit-back scream, he came over the man's fingers.



Norman's rapist finally withdrew and held up his hand. This, of all things, got another laugh out of Jack. "There you go. All better now, little bitch?"



He didn't answer him, lying limp on the slab now, catching his breath. His ears were burning red, an involuntary reaction to the humiliation scalding him.



"Hey, if you're good, maybe we'll let you do that again tomorrow." As Jack continued to taunt him, the rapist zipped up and stepped aside for Derek. Derek knelt behind him and ran the handle of the flashlight down Norman's spine and crack to press it against his anus.



Thick as a man's wrist, it had to be forced in. Norman writhed with little gasped moans of pain that he couldn't stifle. The thicker bell of the flashlight resisted, but he couldn't clench hard enough to keep it out.



"One would think you'd be used to taking things in the ass, faggot," Jack smirked. Then, to the others--once Norman's body closed over the flashlight--he ordered, "Get the bitch dressed and restrained."



Norman groaned in pain, trying futily to push the intrusion back out, but its wider head held it inside. "Sick... Kill you all." There was a hint of desperation in his voice.



"Oh, no, you're our little bitch, now." A head jerk and one of the other agents fastened a chain around their captive's neck. The other end was secured to the bench, leaving Norman on an uncomfortably short leash.



He couldn't even sit up. Of course, with the flashlight up his ass, it was painful to even try.

They left him like that. The shift changed, and no one came to untie him, or to take out the flashlight. By the next afternoon, he was fevered, his shattered leg swollen and leaking greenish fluid. Norman drifted in and out of restless, uncomfortable unconsciousness, his mouth too dry to speak. He hoarded his strength, waiting.



A group, head by Jack, came in to get him that evening. They were unmasked. It wasn't uncommon for guards to escort their charges to the shower rooms.



He looked up at them with a wary sneer, just barely managing to mask something like panic. He knew he couldn't walk.



He looked like a cornered, injured animal. Jack and another agent remained outside while the other four went in to unchain his neck.



He jerked when they touched him, a hand lashing out for the nearest throat. "No more!" he snarled.



The agent's eyes widened and his hands flew to the hand on his throat, prying at the fingers. The other three grabbed for Norman as well, but he was surprisingly strong considering everything he'd been through. Outside the cell, Jack broke off the conversation he'd been having to stride into the cell.



Norman wasn't playing around. Even in his weakened state, he squeezed, trying to crush the larynx. "No. MORE!"



Jack walked up, pushing past the other agents, and kicked Norman in his damaged ribs. He was wearing steal-toed boots.



He lost his grip with the sound of more shifting bone, curling in on himself as much as he could. "No... no more..."



There was more that Jack wanted to do about it, but he wouldn't do it here. They would have to strip him once they got to the shower room, anyway. While Osborn was distracted by the pain, Jack injected him with more of the mutation suppressing drug, incase he tried to shock them.



It made him retch again, but there was nothing left in his stomach. He let them drag him up, limp between them.



The man couldn't seem to walk, so they settle for mostly dragging him down the hall. The shower room itself was really just a small, stark room with a gray tile floor. There were shower heads along one wall, but Norman couldn't stand, and they hadn't really had any intention of allowing him that much dignity, anyway. As soon as the door was closed, they stripped him again.



He kept trying to attack them, biting and clawing with all his dwindled strength. More animal than human in his pain and fever. "Get away from me!"



Once he was naked, they set him on the floor, one agent holding his wrists together over his head. Jack slapped some shackles on him and the six of them hauled him up to hang him from one of the shower heads.



It was high enough that he was forced to stand on the toes of his good leg, balancing precariously. He could barely draw shallow breaths, his ribs still nowhere near healed. Strung out like this, his every injury was visible, from the fading bruises from his first interrogation to the shattered knee, black and suppurating with infection. He looked half-dead.



Jack's hand slipped into his pocket. A guard came over carrying a hose, but Jack put up a hand to stop him. "You know what they do with animals that have behavior problems?"

The other agents looked at each other. "No..." One raised an eyebrow.

"They neuter them," Jack grinned, producing a knife.



Norman jerked, staring at him. "Touch me," he panted painfully, "and I'll skin you alive. I won't be here forever.... Believe me."



"No one's coming to get you," Jack grinned, unintimidated. He got right up in Osborn's face, pressing the knife against his balls until blood appeared. "When are you just going to come to terms with the fact that you are not in charge here?"



He bit down on the inside of his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the fear in them. "Mm'going to kill you all..."



"Yeah. You keep saying that." He stepped back, lifting Osborn's cock out of the way with his free hand and slashing across with the knife hand. When he didn't get all the way through on the first swipe, he tried again.



Osborn screamed, trying desperately to get away from the knife, losing his footing on the floor so he was hanging by his arms. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe, and his whole world was pain. Blood sheeted down his legs.



Finishing off the job, Jack stepped back and eyed Norman the way one might eye a twitching cockroach he just stepped on. Finally, he said, "Hose him off and get him back to his cell. Call me if he gives you trouble." With that he turned and walked out.



Norman was convulsing, struggling to get his feet back under him so he could breathe, but he kept getting the wrong leg and collapsing, struggling in pain. Blood loss was fast weakening him further.



Following their orders, the agents more or less righted him and gave him a once over with the hose. Bloody water ran across the floor, disappearing down the drain. Dragging him back to his cell wasn't as difficult as dragging him to the showers. They put the mattress back on the cement frame and put him on it before locking everything up for the night. The masked men never came to see him.



The bleeding eventually stopped, and he lay there shuddering, pale and cold. The fever climbed, and he muttered to himself, shaking. "Kill them.... kill me... kill them...." No one came in to care for him that night, and by the next morning, he'd stopped muttering, just staring into space.



A/N: SHIELD agents are eeeeeeviiiil.