[quote]
This is the story that was originally intended to accompany my previous submission Restraining Order, with the original sketch presenting similar scene described below before... well, I'll be honest: I didn't feel like drawing it all. Besides some minor corrections and formatting, this is pretty much what I had back when I first conceived the idea back in June 2011.

This is by no means canon (Okay, not anymore at least.) to Mahin Nakai's background.

Contains mature content including violence, bondage, and s/m. Read at your own discretion. Thanks and enjoy!
[/quote]

[b]- Obsessive Hospitality -[/b]

The sound of hard impact filled the long, empty corridor lit only by artificial ceiling lights that hummed without pause. There was a strict pattern of the echoing blunt strikes- left, right, left, right... and occasional whimpering and screams of the victim.

The corridor was barely wide for two people, with two small rooms to the sides and one large room at the end of the hallway. One of the two small rooms contained basic office and communication supplements, whereas the other room served as storage for various needs.

The room connecting the end of the corridor led to a large chamber with a single prison cage sitting at the center, with barely large enough for one person to lie down in. Inside the cage lay a thin rag that did little to comfort the prisoner against the cold, concrete floor, and a rusted metal tray for food or body waste, whichever came first. The prisoner was strictly forbidden from leaving the waste anywhere else.

The remainder of the chamber surrounded the small cage contained tables full of various tools for torture and ceramic pits with drainage holes filled with old bloodstains. Numerous chains and hooks line up the ceiling, swaying slowly back and forth with silent creaks.

Two uniformed men stood over a kneeling white fox, one guard swinging a padded club across the fox's face and upper body while the other periodically asked questions in cold voice. It was the same procedure everyday; hours of torture and questions followed by hours of solitary confinement in a small cage.

The white fox was a young male. He was bounded by heavy iron restraints consisting of shock collar, wrist and ankle cuffs all interconnected by heavy chains. His entire body was covered in bruises and cuts from the torture, with blood spilling out from his mouth from the beatings. Another strike twists his head around with painful cry.

Synthesis. That's what they called those like Mahin. He was one of the early genetic projects used as a front for medical research to test artificial, controllable growth to be used by the military. Many of the early trial products such as himself were meant to be disposed of after analysis, but the clean-up crew never bothered to check the abandoned bodies after the procedure. Many survived, but only few managed to avoid the rapid deterioration of sanity that plagued so many subjects. The kingdom's military couldn't afford to see the ulterior motive of the project exposed, and ruthlessly pursued any survivors through hefty bounties, propaganda, and huge search sweeps across the continent and beyond.

Mahin didn't know how many more were caught, but he had little hopes for company in his cell. The room had no visible windows and the air was damp. The prison was underground and all the cells were divided with individual hallway and three-room setup for each prisoner. Each cell was far enough from each other that no prisoners would be able to hear each others, no matter how hard the they screamed.

"Where are they?" The idle guard questioned. It was always the same question, demanding to know where the other survivors were, regardless of the prisoner's psychological state. It did not matter whether the prisoner knew where the others were or not. The beatings continued one way or another, although the severity intensified if the prisoner refused to cooperate. It was as if they were more interested in torture than gaining any credible information.

Mahin had no strength to look anywhere but down at his pool of blood, slowly building up as more blood dripped down from his face. He was breathing heavily, but remained painfully conscious. The other guard wielding the club walked back and forth slowly in front as Mahin's eyes gazed at the clomping boots. The guard stops, and Mahin winces for another blow from the club.

A hard crack against Mahin's cheek sends out another agonizing scream followed by heavy coughing of blood. He lost count of the number of strikes around thirty, barely able to focus. The torture always seemed to go on forever, since there was no way of telling time. The room was always lit in the same fashion and whatever meals he received arrived in random intervals, which had to be completely finished under set amount of time or else end up with more beatings.

"Where are they?" The guard asked again. There is short silence before the other guard gives another swing at Mahin.

"Where are they?"

[[i]Thwack![/i]]

"Where are they?"

[[i]Whap![/i]]

"Where are they?"

[[i]Crack![/i]]

"Where are they?"

The torture continued even though Mahin could barely speak at this point. He was struggling to breathe, with his face more or less smeared in blood. One more strike from the club sends his head falling towards the floor, followed by his exhausted body. Mahin's vision begins to blur out as his head brushes against the hard concrete surface. He felt himself being dragged back towards the cage and violently thrown in.

His restraints were still locked tight, causing further aches throughout his body as he lay helplessly on the cold, filth-stained rag. Mahin remained motionless, having no strength other than heavy breathing. He wondered how much more of this he could take, but he wanted to stay alive. Even though he had no chance of survival, he wanted to see the outside world envisioned by an old wanderer he had met before. He wanted to know if there really was a place beyond the endless ruins and wastelands he grew up in.

Mahin slowly closed his eyes to get whatever rest he could before the torture resumed. But the sound of question and beating continued to play back in his head relentlessly. Even within his solitude he was continuously bombarded by mental anguish. He cried himself to sleep every time, crying for the noise to stop...

Crying for the torture to stop...