NOTE: This is an old version of Inhuman, which is currently undergoing extensive revisions that include a stylistic overhaul and several chapters’ worth of new content. Stay tuned for the final version, due out whenever I finally slay the procrastination demon that’s taken up residence in my brain. (The bastard.) Meanwhile, please note that the following may not be representative of my current writing skills and is kept here primarily for archival purposes.
Back into the nightmare: the fight for freedom and survival begins.
— CHAPTER TWELVE —
Humans and Animals
He was cold. Not quite shivering, but moreso than what his torn uniform could protect him from. He would’ve loved a blanket; he would’ve even appreciated being able to rub his aching arms, but the restraints holding them firmly behind his back made that a fantasy. He knew better than to struggle, though. The hardened manacles would cut through his wrists long before he’d able to loosen them. All he could do was sit back onto his bench in the corner of his cell and try to conserve energy.
The room was featureless with very dim lighting that barely illuminated the plain steel walls and rusty floor. He knew that this was intentional, meant to keep the cell’s captives in a state of exhausted wariness, as was the permeating coolness of the air, not cold enough to affect one’s overall health but just enough to keep them on an edge. This discomfort wasn’t just gratuitous; the aim was simple and clear: to keep prisoners tense enough that they’ll break easier and submit to interrogations quicker. Depending on the methods used, anyway.