A/N: FINALLY! A second chapter. My god I've been busy and lazy. Well, enjoy.

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All he could feel was pain. It ripped through him. It tore across his body and racked his mind. His head felt like it was on fire. And the cold. The horrible cold. It engulfed him and swept through the little clothing he was wearing.

Wearily, he opened an eye. The motion hurt so much he felt his head was splitting in half. He promptly closed it again. After a few moments of preparing himself for the pain, he opened both eyes. Images swam in front of his eyes. He couldn't make the fuzzy pictures he was seeing. It was dark, and something like bars floated in and out of his vision.

The swirling images made him dizzy and nauseous. He found himself rolling over and vomiting on the cold stone floor. His mouth tasted of salt water and gunpowder. He coughed and sputtered, attempting to get the taste out of his mouth. Doing so made him sick again, and he vomited a second time.

He rolled onto his back and stared groggily at the ceiling. He felt dead. He could hear the ocean rolling in his head, as though he were right next to it. He groaned and attempted to silence the sound, to no avail.

He stopped suddenly as he heard voices. He listened closely, hanging on their words, trying to find out just what had happened in the last few hours.

"-Colonel Beckett warned 'im, din' he? I say it's the dog's own fault. He'll just have to deal with the punishment expected." The first man's voice was hard and cold. The second laughed.

"Would you look at that, Dav? 'Es awake. How're we feelin', Jack?"

Jack heard a key grind in a lock and a large metal door opening. He listened as footsteps crossed over to him. He opened his mouth to say something to them, but was silenced with a sudden sharp kick to the ribs.

This sent him into a coughing fit, causing him to vomit a third time.

Rough hands grabbed him by his arms and yanked him to his feet. "Get up, you. You've slept long enough. There's someone here to see you." One of the men said. They forced his head up. Slowly, blinking away the lights of pain, Jack set his eyes on the new man.

Cutler Beckett

""You…" Jack rasped before coughing uncontrollably.

"Yes me." Beckett smiled smugly and paced in front of Jack. "You tried to escape me, Jack. Luckily my men were already preparing to sail, so I told them to take a little detour. They thought you were dead when they found you lying face down in the ocean. But obviously you weren't."

Beckett strolled over to one of the stone walls and pulled something from it.

"My ship…Where is it? Where am I?" Jack asked.

"Your ship is currently lying on the ocean's floor." Beckett smirked. "And you are currently in a dungeon in Port Royal."

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make everything better.

"I believe I told you what would happen if you chose to disobey me. And I intend to make good on my word." Beckett began unrolling something in his hands, and Jack was turned around.

The men holding him slammed his face into the bars of another cell and tore the remains of his shirt from him, revealing a sinewy and tan back, weather-beaten from time on the open ocean.

The cold stung him as it whipped across his bare torso. But the wind was nothing in comparison to what he was about to feel.

He growled in pain at the sudden and unexpected strike of a whip across his bare back. The pain came again and again, each time biting into his flesh and causing insurmountable pain.

2,3,4…

He gritted his teeth as Beckett struck him harder each time. He didn't stop until Jack was writhing with pain. The two guards released him and Jack collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Above him Beckett handed the whip off to another guard and turned his attention on a fireplace a few paces away.

"That was a pirate's punishment, Jack." Beckett murmured while staring into the blazing coals. "And to earn such punishment, you need to be a pirate." He reached into the fire and withdrew a long branding iron. He held it up to Jack's face so that Jack could see clearly what it was.

At the end of the branding iron was a large, blazing red "P". Jack began scrambling to his feet in horror but was pulled back down by a guard.

"It's time to take responsibility for your actions, Jack." Beckett reached out and grabbed Jack's wrist. Jack attempted to pull it back, but was unable with the guards around him. In a quick motion, granted by years of practice, Beckett flipped the iron and pressed it down on Jack's wrist.

Jack howled in pain and wriggled out of Beckett's grasp. Suddenly adrenaline filled, Jack yanked the iron from Beckett's hand and buried it in his groin. Beckett doubled over in pain and guards ran to attack Jack. Jack ran to the fireplace and scooped up some of the hot coals with a shovel nearby. He flung the coals at the guards and dashed out the nearest door.