Prisoner

The first thing Clay becomes aware of is pain. He bites back a groan. His head is killing him. Without opening his eyes he uses his other senses to assess his situation. Clay doesn't hear anyone around him, not a single sound. Yet something is wrong for he feels an almost painful pressure around his wrists and ankles.

He carefully opens his eyes just a slit. His eyes have some trouble with focusing. He fights not to throw up. Darn it! He definitely has a concussion. And his surroundings don't make him happy either. It looks like he is in some prison cell or something. As far as he can tell he is alone and there is no camera pointing at him. None in his limited sight field at least.

Clay opens his eyes fully and let's out the groan he has been struggling to hold in since he woke up. He feels horrible. His body is protesting every movement. The cell he is in is very small. Just big enough for him to lay in but not much else. Iron manacles on his wrists and ankles further limit his movement. The chains are bolted to the floor and are giving him just enough reach to sit and lean against the cold, gray and soundproofed wall.

What the hell happened to him? The last thing he remembers is finishing a mission and going home. Clay closes his eyes and fights his need to throw up. He doesn't want to throw up all over himself. He carefully touches his head wound. Thinking and using his brain make him feel worse. Are the others captured as well? He sighs and opens his eyes. His memory is useless. No way to tell how much time he is missing or what happened to get him here.

He shivers. The bastards that captured him have taken away all of his clothes. The only thing they left on him are his shorts. A small mercy in this situation. Time passes without anyone checking up on him. A good thing in his opinion, better to waste away in a cell than being tortured for information. On the positive side this gives his team time to find him and rescue him in relative good health. They better be doing that and not rotting away in a cell next to him.

More negative consequences of his current situation make themselves known a few hours later. His stomach and bladder start to complain that they want attention. And his dry throat tells him he can use a drink as well. Sadly there is no food and or water in his cell.

And if there had been he had to worry about drugs or poison. The later option unlikely. Why go trough all the trouble to capture him only to poison him hours later? Drugs to loosen his tongue in this situation is more likely to occur. Something to think about when they start to bring him stuff to eat. Or is their plan to starve him?

Some more time passes. He has trouble to keep his eyes open. Adrenaline shocks him back into awareness. That smell! He looks around his cell. Gas is entering the room. The manacles hold him in place. No way to escape. He holds his breath but knows it's a lost cause. None the less he holds on as long as possible before succumbing to the smoke.

Clay doesn't lose conscious but grows very weak. Everything is to heavy to move, he feels like a fish out of water. Even worse, he feels his bladder go as he looses control over his muscles. His cell door opens and three men enter. They laugh as they see his wet shorts. They reach down to release him from his manacles. He attempts to fight but his body is to slow in reacting to his commands. The men laugh at his weak attempt. There is no strength left in his body.

Two of the men grab him at his arms and pull him upright. A bad idea. So far Clay had won his fight against nausea but the movement is jarring enough for him to lose the battle. He does his best to aim for the man that is standing on his right. His head may be slow to respond but he manages to hit his target.

He laughs. Well, he tries to at least. His face muscles, like the rest of his body are slow to respond. He swallows with difficulty. His throat is killing him. It had been to long without anything to drink.

"Puta!" Fists of the men around him find their way to his stomach. The one on his left keeps hitting him on the same spot. He bites back a yell as he is pretty sure that he just felt a rib break. Shit! That hurts! When his captors stop hitting him they don't give him time to recover. They drag him out of the cell and into a concrete hallway.

Clay forces his head to move around while fighting to get enough air in his longs. He doesn't see another cell next to the one he had been in. This gives him hope, his team may still be free. Or they are being held at another location.

He sees how much damage he has done to the man on his right. Most of the mess had landed on his shirt and trousers. He forces his mouth to smirk. Totally worth the beating! Looking at the skin color of the men and the Spanish curse word, he is probably still in Peru.

How that is possible he doesn't know. Last thing he remembers is finishing the mission. Had they gotten another mission before they were meant to fly home? He wishes that he can remember what happened.

They drag him to an almost empty room. The only thing inside of it is an uncomfortable looking chair. Some hooks in the ceiling and a harsh, white light that makes his head hurt worse. They drop him in the chair and bind him to it. He protest but his weak body is easily forced into the position they want him to be in.

"You are going to pay for this!" The man he had used as target practice snarls in accented English and punches him in the face. His lip starts to bleed. The men leave the room laughing at the man he will be calling vomit boy from now on in his head. The laughing men are probably glad that they hadn't been hit by the vomit as well. The man glares at Clay as he locks the door on his way out.

Spitting the blood from his lip on the floor, he groans. Great! Now he is alone again. Those people really do take their time interrogating him. But why? He is confused.

He slowly looks around the room for a second time. Maybe he has missed something when they dragged him in. But he hasn't. He has exchanged one small box for another, only a few sizes bigger. The wet shorts he is wearing clamp to his legs and makes him feel uncomfortable. Darn it! It is humiliating. He knows he should not feel this way. It happened out of his control. But it still feels degrading to him.

Time passes. How many hours had passes since he woke up? What are his captors playing at. As if hearing his thoughts the door opens and Clay straightens up in his chair. He had the control over his body back, the drug had left his system a while ago. Sadly iron manacles keeps him bound to the chair that is bolted to the floor.

A man that he hasn't seen before enters the room. Followed by the three men that had dragged him to the chair that he is sitting in now. He keeps silent, just observing the new person. The man is nicely dressed. Like a businessman. Is he the man in charge?

One of the goons, the one that broke his rib, drags a much nicer chair into the room and sets it down in front of him. The wealthy looking man sits down into it. They check each other out in silence. The three men spread around the room. The man he puked on has put on some new clothes. A pity. Clay had hoped the man would suffer the smell a little while longer.

The eyes of the man in front of him go to his head. The head wound had luckily stopped bleeding some hours ago. To his split lip followed by the bruises on his chest. He finishes his observation with looking at Clay's by now dry but smelly shorts. And smirks at him. The men he brought with him laugh. Enjoying his humiliation.

"Welcome to my humble abode. I hope you are enjoying our hospitality, Clay Spencer." Clay hides his shock that the man knows his name. How the hell is this possible? Had he met the man before? He doesn't look familiar at all. The man speaks with no hint of a Spanish accent at all. He sounded American. Did he meet him not to long ago and lost his memory of him? Is this man connected to the current mission he is on? A mission he doesn't remember anything about.

"I'm afraid I have some complains." His voice croaks. He swallows painfully. If only he could get something to drink right now. He moves his hands and feet. The iron chains rattle. "I'm feeling a little bit tied up at the moment. Would you mind doing something about that?" The man in front of him doesn't react, the other three move threateningly closer to him. Apparently not liking his flippant tone in this conversation.

"I'm afraid not, Clay. Do you mind if I call you Clay?" The man continues to talk before Clay can respond. "You will stay tied up for just a little while longer. I'm sure your team will be here as fast as they can be. Until that time you are my guest." The SEAL keeps his face blank. What the hell is this guy playing at?

"I'm sorry, I'm a little bit confused. Must be my head wound. What is going on here?" Is this man counting on his rescue? The man slowly nods. To Clay the movement feels fake, just an act. A shiver moves over his back. Looking in the mans eyes is like looking in a dark pit. This is a very calculating, dangerous man.

"That head wound does look bad. Let me clear things up for you. I took you here because I wanted you to deliver a message for me."

"A message?" This gets stranger and stranger. Kidnapped so that he can deliver a message? What an odd situation, just his luck that this happens to him.

"Yes, I'm sending a message to your father." Clay freezes. "Ash Spenser is an old friend of mine. And I think having you at my mercy will send him the correct message I wanted to convey." Slowly the words penetrate his head. This has to do with his dad?

"You know, my dad loves fan mail, you could have just sent a letter." He tries to joke. This is just great, his father always brings him trouble.

The unknown man in front of him smiles. Fake again. His eyes are emotionless. He looks at his watch. "Your job, Clay, is to stay alive until your team comes to get you. Have fun boys." He stands up and walks to the wall. Not seeming to care what is about to happen behind him. Clay looks up at the three grinning men surrounding him. Oh yeah, this is going to hurt.

He regains conscious with a shock as a bucket of water is thrown over him. He is laying on the cold floor, his hands and feet shackled to the ground. Moving is a bad idea, he is hurting everywhere. Before he can control his tongue he licks up the water around his mouth. He is dying of thirst.

Vomit boy mocks him for it. But Clay is glad to get any water at all. They leave him alone again. Couldn't they let him sleep for a while if they weren't continuing his torture? Bastards! He looks at his shorts. Good, he still has it on. He knows what happens to some in captivity. But it looks like those people aren't into rape. A small mercy. He had been worried about it.

While taking in all his injuries he keeps looking at the still wet floor. He is so thirsty. But to lap it up like a dog is just as humiliating as wetting his shorts. But he needs to drink to survive. And he needs a clear head to figure things out. So he starts to lap up as much of the water he can reach.

This is happening because someone wanted to sent a message to his father. The person seemingly in charge was counting on him being rescued by his team. Who the hell are his kidnappers? And how the hell is his father involved?

With a bang the door opens. Vomit boy and Rib breaker enter the room. Great! Time for another round of beating up the SEAL.

"Having fun?" Vomit boy asks mockingly. Rib breaker starts to lower the chains bolted to the ceiling. Oh yeah, this is going to be a great time.

"Just peachy." He says sarcastically and tries to smile but is pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. Vomit boy connects the chains from the ceiling to his wrist manacles. And releases him from the chains connecting his hands to the floor. He gives the sign to rib breaker to rise the chains up again. Forcing Clay's body to do the same.

When only his toes can reach the floor they stop. He would have kicked out but his feet are still shackled to the floor. With a bang the door opens again. The third brute enters with a cart on wheels. The items on the cart tell Clay that he is in for some painful electric torture.

His eyes widen as he feels hands going to his shorts. And starts to struggle. Surely they are not going to do what he things that they are going to do? He looks at the man that's touching him where he definite does not want to be touched.

Vomit boy just grins at him. "This is going to be so much fun."

Before Clay can protest, rib breaker hits him on his broken ribs. He yells in pain. The third goon is quick to put a gag in his mouth and tie it behind his head.

"Believe me, you need this if you don't want to bite your tongue off." The third guy also has a Spanish accent, just like Vomit boy. Clay breathes harshly. What the hell are they going to do? With a knife they remove his shorts. He is struggling not to hyperventilate.

Vomit boy is playing with Clay's cock and balls while looking in his victim's eyes. Enjoying the fear the SEAL can't hide. The third one is busy connecting wires all on him. The next few minutes are spent in blinding, seemingly never ending pain.

An alarm goes off. With some trouble clay rises his head from his chest to see where the sound is coming from. Forcing his toes to take his weight back and relieve his wrists from hanging of the ceiling. The attention of everyone in the room is on the watch of the man that seems to be in charge. Apparently the man had entered the room while Clay was out of it.

"It seems our time is up. Your team has found you faster than I expected." The unknown man tells Clay. He reaches for something in his jacket. What he has in his hands is frightening, for he recognizes what it is. His very own knife.

His eyes widen. He wants to protest but his body is to broken and his voice barely heard with the gag in his mouth. His voice almost non existent after all the yelling he had done.

"Don't worry Clay, I'm not going to kill you. I'm sure the medic on your team is able to keep you alive." He starts to approach. Despite the pain of movement, Clay starts to struggle. But there is no escaping his shackles.

Before Clay can do anything a piercing stabbing pain goes trough his body. He looks down. His own knife is sticking out of his lower abdomen. A piece of paper is wrapped around it. The business man sees Clay looking at the paper.

"Don't worry about it Clay. Just focus on surviving. This is between me and your father. You have nothing to do with this." Like hell he has nothing to do with this. Vomit boy approaches and speaks into Clay's ear.

"A pity this has to end so soon. I had planned so many things we could do together. Ah well, maybe we can have more fun next time." He whispers with a leer and a slap on Clay's ass. The SEAL shudders in horror. That man is insane.

The men leave his sight. He struggles to breath trough the pain. His broken ribs don't help him with that. How close is his team? How long does he have? The blood is spreading around him, dripping on the floor. His sight darkens and he knows no more.