Warning: this story is extremely graphic and kind of bloody so if torture creeps you out a lot this might not be the story for you. Constructive criticism is welcome.

'Where am I, how did I get here!' Glancing around the room, john immediately felt a blinding pain at the back of his head. 'What the hell happened to me?' Beginning to reach for his head, he noticed that his hands had been handcuffed behind his back to the chair he was sitting in, along with his feet. After struggling for a few seconds, he came to the realization that the chair was nailed to the hardwood floor. Soon after, he allowed himself to slip into a recent memory while staring aimlessly at the gray, dull ceiling.

'Oh, that's right. I was walking to the CIA agency building and got hit by a car.' "And then..."he tried to remember, "And then I was...Oh no, so that would mean that this is..."

"Hell? No, not quite but you're close. I doubt Hell would be as cruel as what we have in store for you." A man wearing a black suit stepped out of the darkened shadow behind John's chair, sitting in the middle of the room. He had short blond hair that was trimmed and taken care of. His tall slim figure was perfectly matched with his charming good looks.

A man dressed in all white walked out after him. They were obviously twins but his hair was long and stream like. "Actually, your stay here could be rather quick and painless if you do as you're told. We are twins if you couldn't tell but don't mistake us for one another. You'll find my brother is quite the hothead. If you piss me off I'll torture you, yes but you will be relieved once you talk. Him on the other hand..."

The other stepped in front of him, "Do not piss me off." He stated clearly while cleaning droplets of blood off of a set of Brass knuckles.

"So what, is this supposed to be a good cop-bad cop thing?"

"We are not good, and we are not cops." The one in white answered.

"We are felons that make you people talk for our own motives." He responded frankly.

"I prefer to think of us as information solicitors. You can just call us Mr. Black and Mr. White."

"Just start the questioning," Mr. Black ordered.

Mr. White's eyes narrowed with irritation. "Fine" he re-focused his attention to John. "Tell me everything you know about the CIA's recent plans."

"I don't know what you're talking about, we don't have any..."

"Don't play games!" shouted Mr. Black

"I don't know what you mean."

An arm with a white sleeve flung out in front of Mr. Black before rampaging John. "Easy brother, don't allow your temper to get the best of you." Mr. White pulled a knife out from the inside suit jacket pocket, no longer than a foot long. Its handle was white with blue-topaz stones incrusted in it. When the point of the knife just barely touched his finger, a small droplet of blood spilled. Accompanying the blood was his tongue soon after to lick it off. "Do you know why I prefer a knife over all other weapons?"

John simply starred at him, waiting.

"Well I will tell you. A knife is extremely precise and can inflict a lot of pain without killing. Do you know that there are countless ways to get people to talk with only a knife? Did you know that it is possible to pill a person's skin off, and with the proper precautions, keep them alive." He circled around John slowly. "You wont have to know if you do as I say, and I'm growing impatient."

"I wouldn't tell you anything even if I did know something." Dryness crept through his throat and nervousness seeped in when he felt Mr. White's hands firmly grip his arm.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to hurt such a marvelous looking hostage but I suppose I have no choice."

Before John could feel the painful dislocation of his shoulder, he heard a loud crackling noise. John bit his lip.

As he traced John's shirt with his knife in his free hand, the other only pushed the already dislocated arm further.

John nearly cried out when he felt his should bone poking at his ear.

"Would you like to talk now?" He noticed John trying to form words with his mouth.

Sweat streamed down Johns bead red face until Mr. White finally released him. "I...I'll."

Mr. White pulled back one side of his hair and leaned forward, ear first, next to John's mouth. "Hmm?"

"I'll kill you." John growled angrily.

"That's too bad; I hoped you would be smarter." Once again he pulled out his knife, this time more aggressively.

Shreds of shirt fell to the floor with every slash Mr. White made. Amazingly he managed to avoid cutting any of his skin in the process. "I will give you one more chance before you really get hurt. Tell me all you know about the secret operation the CIA is working on." Mr. White rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"I don't know anything." He lied.

Sighing, Mr. White once again raised his knife. It started at his pant lane and danced across his skin leaving a trail of red behind it until reaching the dislocated shoulder. When it tapped the bone he looked at John one more time to see if he was ready to talk. Seeing that he'd made up his mind, he plunged the blade in between his shoulder.

The man screamed at the top of his lungs trembling violently. "Damn... it hurts... make the pain stop... please just... just make it stop. It hurts so much" he mumbled as the pain blurred his vision.

"What are you mumbling on about; praying won't do you any good here."

"I'm tired of this." Mr. Black growled. "Allow me to show him the meaning of true pain." He slipped on the brass knuckles, each knuckle with a ruby inside. "I am not like my brother; I won't give you multiple chances to tell me, if you don't start telling me in ten seconds everything you know, you'll wish that knife pierced your heart instead. "One...Two...Ten, times up." he charged at him and landed his first blow in his abdomen. Blood trickled down his mouth increasingly as the beating went on. Mr. Blacks frenzy didn't slow when the blows began knocking lose the bolts nailing the chair to the floor.

'Stop, please stop,' he thought, hoping he could summon up enough strength to say it out loud. After several minutes into the brutal mauling the punches stopped and he heard Mr. White speak.

"Brother that is enough, if you beat him too badly, he'll be in too much pain to talk."

'Thank God for that, I don't think I could have taken one more punch.' The brass-knuckle marks quickly began showing up on his chest and torso, each stinging and vibrating to the same rhythm. He coughed uncontrollably to the side of him spewing blood all over the floor.

"Tell us now!" Mr. Black ordered.

John tried to speak but when he opened his mouth only more coughs came out. "Talk, I know you can!"

Gasping ferociously, everything but Mr. Black's terrifying face faded into the back ground. 'Speak! Speak! You have to speak!'

Mr. Black's knuckles cracked before he slipped his hand into the brass-knuckles and aggressively stepped towards John.

The chair bobbed back and forth as he tried to escape the inevitable. His labored breathing allowed for him to speak just a few words. "Please...No more...Please."

Writers note: Congratulations you have made it to the end of this chapter.

This story will be continued for people who care. I hope you have enjoyed this little story and if you haven't, that is ok too. Please review :D