Consciousness hit Blake like a truck as they woke up tied to a metal chair.
Their head felt like bursting open with each breath, making it difficult to keep quiet. But the last few years taught Blake that staying unnoticed was the easiest way to avoid further trouble, a lot of times. People didn't like it when they complained. Head hanging down, all they saw was their bound legs and a metal floor. They closed their eyes again and tried to slow their breathing. Finally, their mind started to calm, and they could try to figure out what was happening to them.
Blake had been walking home, they could remember it clearly. The hours before, they've spent pacing, trying to convince themselves not to enter the casino. More than once, they were already at the steps leading downstairs, into the smoke filled neon lit halls, but each time, they managed to turn around, remembering what they've lost already. They were already in enough trouble as is… but it didn't save them from ending up here, tied to a chair, either.
A shiver ran down their spine, forcing them to focus back on the here and now. This place, whatever it might be, felt cold and dead, and worst of all, Blake was starting to hear steps. Keeping their eyes closed and playing dead, they were focusing on the sound, trying to figure out where this person was coming from, up until it all stopped, and silence returned. They weren't alone anymore. Waiting was painful, but looking up would be far too dangerous right now, when their captor could be staring right back at them. Who could this even be? There were more than a few people Blake owed money to, but there was also their ex, an old boss, stalkers… Frankly, they've always been good at making enemies. Finally, the sound returned, a few steps, and then, something rustling. Whoever was with them in the room was busy now.
Cautiously, they opened their eyes again, glaring up for just a moment. They needed to know how fucked they were, and it felt just a little safer now than before. There was only one light source in this room, and it was apparently right above Blake's head. It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. The first thing they managed to see was that the wall in front of them was covered in tools. A man, thankfully not looking their way, seemed to be busy cleaning something with a soft circling motion. He seemed properly distracted, so Blake continued their exploration. To their right was a freezer. Oh. Things were starting to add up. Maybe silence had not been the right choice for this situation.
Clearing their throat, they sat up properly. "Where am I?" they asked the dumb, but necessary question out loud. Dropping whatever had been in his hands, the man finally turned around, revealing a face Blake had never seen before. A wave of disappointment hit them, and then, they felt really stupid. At least whatever this was, it was only business for this guy, and not some long-running dispute. The man looking at them was nothing more than a stranger. So maybe they could get out of this, use their words, or something else?
The man took a step closer, into the light, giving Blake a chance to take a proper look at him. He was tall, stocky, part of his raw strength hiding underneath a layer of softness and body hair, which were in plain sight thanks to him keeping his shirt open. There were a lot more edges to his face than expected, and he looked tired, far beyond anything else. The long black hair framing his face was well taken care of, as well as his fingernails. Blake liked to look at people's hands and nails - they always told a story. The black paint was either a fashion statement, or this man was used to getting his hands very dirty.
Looking up at him, Blake couldn't help but feel a little scared. If the man noticed, he didn't let them know. Instead, he grabbed their face, checking their eyes, leaving Blake more confused than afraid. "Good," he stepped away again, back into the darkness. "You're back to your senses." He crossed his arms as he leaned back against the workbench. "I am Milán. This is my workspace," he gestured around the two of them. "And you are my work today."
For a moment, silence settled between the two of them. Blake had no clue how to reply to that, words bouncing through their head, refusing to make sense. Maybe they were trying to spare themselves the pain, refusing to acknowledge what would come next. So how did they become work? They barely had any of that themselves. In the end, all they could say was: "Huh?" Milán didn't seem to mind them taking their time, maybe he had even expected it. "There has been a request for one of your kidneys," he replied, far too casually. "And a few more things. My employers implied this would be enough to pay off your current debt?"
Everything clicked into place and made sense, and they could no longer deny what was happening - Blake was going to get taken apart like an old car, trying to return someone's investments in the most direct way possible.
They had heard of them before - chop shops hidden in the dark corners of town, willing to take out a few bits in return for a sizable amount of money. For a lot of their customers, this surely beat starving, or losing their housing. There had always been rumors about less willing participants, of course, but Blake never paid too much attention to that. A dumb fucking decision, in hindsight, because now they had no idea how illegal this truly was. Blake thought they had more time to collect some money, to try and repay at least the worst of the debt, but apparently, they guessed wrong and people had gotten impatient. But there was another issue…
"I- um- There's more than one group I owe money to," they stumbled through their confession. "Can you - Well - Who hired you?" Blake hadn't noticed it yet, but they've started trembling. Grabbing a knife off the counter, Milán started to fidget a little with the blade, balancing it between two fingers as he listened to Blake. "Now, I am not allowed to talk about my employers, but I've seen how much this will pay. So unless you are truly completely irresponsible and maybe even stupid, this will be your highest debt," he replied with a grin, revealing surprisingly deep smile lines for a man bound to such a horrific occupation.
Embarrassment crept up Blake's face, followed by shame. Somehow, him knowing what had gotten them into this situation made it all feel so much worse, and so much more personal. They ended up looking down again, hoping Milán couldn't see the desperation in their eyes. They had tried to convince that this would have been avoidable, if only they had… but no, they've been fucking up for years by now, unable to hold a job for long, even though that wouldn't matter anyway. All their money ended up in other people's hands anyway, because they were a walking sign of bad luck, too stupid to realize it themselves.
Suddenly, their chin got pushed up, forcing Blake to look at Milán. "No need feel ashamed," he turned around, returning to cleaning the blade: "Addiction is an illness, and you clearly didn't get the help you needed." Blake had to repress the urge to ask if this counted as help in his eyes. If this made him feel good, like he was adding anything useful to the world. How he managed to not be ashamed of himself. But the words were swallowed down alongside the idea of fighting back or running away. It was useless. If this man didn't take them apart now, someone else was going to get them, and maybe, take even more than he would.
"Now, your debtors chose the cheapest option, so I'm warning you that this will hurt," Milàn had taken a pair of medical gloves from some hidden corner. It took a moment for the words to sink in. The man was already stepping closer as Blake suddenly called out: "Wait!" For the first time, they struggled against their restraints. "What, do I not get any anesthetics?"
Apparently unimpressed by the outburst, Milán stepped right up to the chair, reminding them just how much physically bigger the man was. "Correct," he spoke slowly, as if to make sure they had no chance to misunderstand him: "No one paid for that." Blake stopped breathing for a moment, only looking up at him in sheer horror. He didn't move back, only returning the glare, seemingly uncaring. How could a person act like that? So, would he just cut them open, while they watched and felt it all? Squirmed underneath his hands? If it all wasn't so scary, it would be absurd.
As much as they wanted to start crying or complaining, neither option would save them from the pain. But Blake had to do something, anything, to stop this. They had no money on their person, and very little at home, nothing that could convince this man. They were unsure what could even get to someone this strange, but there was one thing they could try, no matter how shameful.
"Please, I can pay."
A sudden laugh filled the small room, as Milán lost his composure completely, holding his chest as he seemed to collapse into himself. "My aren't you funny," he finally calmed down. "But if you truly still possess any monetary assets, I would suggest offering them up to your debtors instead of me. Maybe they'd give you another week of freedom for that." Blake didn't reply, but kept looking at him with the same determination, until he took a surprised step back. "Alright," he finally caved in, crossing his arms. "I am listening."
Sitting as upright as their bindings let them, Blake cleared their throat. "Let me suck you off." For a moment, it looked like Milán would be back to laughing at them, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but he kept quiet. Blake watched the subtle rising of his chest, seemingly unchanged by their suggestion. A strange sort of silence settled in between them, and the shame was joined by fear.
"You are making a lot of assumptions about my desires and the state of my genitals," Milán turned around and returned to preparing their tools. "Or my morals," he continued, not leaving Blake a moment to justify themselves. "What sort of person would I be to take advantage of your current situation?" Before they could interject, he walked past them, into some corner of the room they could not see, returning to preparing the horrors that were awaiting them. "I'm a professional, not a monster." Finally, Blake got a moment of silence. "But I'm offering? And I'm good!" They didn't understand why he couldn't just say yes and spare them the pain. "Under pressure, because you are afraid. I don't fuck with that," Milán called from behind them.
Getting teary-eyed against their better judgment, Blake's voice broke as they tried again: "But like, I'm asking you, I just don't want to feel th-" - "Still rape-y," Milán cut them off, walking back into their field of vision. That was the last straw, sending the tears that had been welling up running down their cheeks, as they couldn't hold back their sobs anymore. "Please, please, I don't want to feel that, I don't want to…" This was the worst, this was so much worse than all the times they've fucked up before. This would be the end.
Blake prepared to get slapped or punched, or something, for making a scene. But nothing happened. Instead, when they looked up, they were being handed a tissue. Hands still bound, they had to awkwardly lean forward to get rid of the tears. Milán didn't look at them directly, as if he couldn't stand the tears. Hard to believe, this was his job, after all. "I'm not gonna fuck you," he finally replied. "But… we can make a deal, alright?"
Blake prepared for the worst, as Milán kneeled down in front of them, hands resting on their thighs as he looked up at them. "I will get you full anesthetics for the main surgery," he offered: "But not for the first bit. And you'll let me spit into your mouth." Blake suddenly had to choke, hearing the last bit. Out of everything, they did not expect that. Milán didn't intervene with their cough-laughing, just waiting for Blake to calm down. "What? Does that get you off?" they finally managed to ask. Laughing felt good, freeing, even if it didn't get them out of this situation.
"Does that matter?" He asked, cautiously, as if he didn't have all the cards on his side in this situation. They just shook their head, trying to calm down again. Oh, the relief made them feel dizzy. Milán, seemingly satisfied, got up and returned to preparing his tools. After a moment, he interrupted their short moment of joy again. "We do need to get some more things done before that, though."
Blake didn't listen to him, until Milán had returned with a set of large pliers and crushed their short-lived high. They froze, and he waited. "This will hurt," the explanation didn't make it any easier to accept. "But it's part of my contract, part of the things I will need to deliver." Blake still didn't say anything, just looking down at their hands…. And then they realized where this was going. "No, no, no-" their voice nearly broke - "Not the ring finger, please, everyone's gonna know and-"
Milán shut their mouth, just grabbing their jaw and pushing it up. "Not my decision. But they've chosen this punishment for a reason, and we both know that, don't we?" He spoke so matter-of-fact, no sympathy at all. Milán didn't move, until Blake nodded, pushing tears back, and he released them. No more skin contact, there was nothing left for them to do but quietly cry already. This would be the end of them. No one was going to hire them with this sign of distrust right on their body. Their pain was interrupted by their wrist restraints being cut. Before they could try anything, Milán had already tied their left arm to the chair again. With their right arm, he took more time, making sure the fingers stuck right off the chair arm, as if he was planning to chop them all off.
Before they could keep sobbing, Milán took their face and pinned it against the chair. Too confused to keep up, they only realized what was going on when it was too late. Their head was pushed and tied to the chair's headpiece, leaving no space to move at all. Maybe the idea was that they wouldn't bite their own tongue off. Maybe this was what got Milán riled up. They weren't sure. It wasn't a pure sign of mercy - if he had that in mind, he would have covered their eyes.
But no, Blake could see their hands, and they could see Milán disinfect the blades of the pliers. There had to be a better way to do that, right? But they couldn't think about that further, the panic was getting too strong to think at all, so instead, they started to pray to the gods. Believing wasn't something that came to them easily, it never had, but in their worst times, they always ended up back here, quietly mouthing the words to the prayers they had learned as a child. Too many gods, too many prayers, too many words left unheard and yet, they couldn't resist that delusion of comfort.
The prayer cut short as the metal touched their skin, and started to rip through the first few layers. Everything seemed to slow down for Blake, as they took in each new pain one by one. It seemed like there was no resistance to the pliers, or maybe Milán was simply strong enough to disregard all bone and cartilage. And then, before they could really process what had happened, their finger was gone, and they were screaming. The pain was like nothing they've felt before, filling their head with nothing but the agony, nausea and dizziness.
They did not notice how Milán had taken out a Bunsen burner from underneath his workbench. Or him heating up a knife. But they did feel the disgusting sensation of burning flesh as Milán cauterized their newest wound. They've never been good at handling pain. Something in their body could not take that, and suddenly, it all turned dark.
When Blake woke up again, they were no longer tied to that chair, instead, lying on something, bound by their wrists. The cold metal underneath their bare back and the flashing light above made it hard to focus on much at all. Still, they had to try… But the moment they've gotten used to their surroundings, the pain returned too.
Screaming wasn't an option, even with the gag gone, so they returned to sobbing violently, while trying to pull their hand up. They just needed to know how bad it looked, how fucked they really were. With bindings this tight, that was a lost cause. Still, between the trashing, Blake could feel their pinkie and middle finger meet, confirming that their ring finger was truly gone. Something had been wrapped around the rest of their hand, but it clearly didn't help with the pain.
"You're finally awake," Milán leaned over them, saving their eyes from the stark light. "I did not expect you to lose consciousness that quickly. Sure, most people scream, but they are capable of taking this sort of pain…" It nearly sounded like disappointment, like he was calling them weak. Blake wanted to disagree, but the moment they tried to speak, only sobs left them once more. "Don't," two strong hands gripped their head from both sides: "It's okay. No need to explain yourself. This is just work, no personal offense." His hands were so warm compared to Blake's skin, who was starting to notice the cold sweat running down their forehead.
"I have prepared a local anesthetic," he seemed far too excited about the occasion. "You'll feel as much as someone would feel during a C section, just with added risks, of course." Blake managed to raise an eyebrow, which seemed to be enough to convey their question. Pulling out a syringe, Milán started to explain. "This has been applied a lot closer to your heart than it would be during a Cesarean section. Therefore, the added risk. But you are alive and well!" Blake needed a moment to comprehend what he just said. They tried to move their toes, then their hip, and then, a short burst of panic hit them.
Seemingly confused, Milán returned to holding their face, forcing them to look at him. "Hey, this is what you wanted, isn't it?" Somehow, that sentence was enough to calm them down a little. Yes, this is what they wanted and needed. They couldn't do this next step without it. "Now open wide," Milán's voice returned them to reality and therefore to fear. Blake had nearly forgotten about that dumb promise… But he had already done his part.
Reluctantly, they shook their head. Milán seemed to freeze, just looking down at them expectantly. But they've made up their mind, they didn't really need to play along anymore, now, did they? As long as they did not need to feel their organs being removed, they could deal with whatever unpleasantness Milán invented to torture them. Surprisingly, he did not leave to retrieve any tools or gadgets to change their mind. The moment they were about to admit that they might have misjudged the man, he hooked his thumbs into their mouth, pushing Blake's lower jaw open with the rest of his hand.
It might have been punishment for their disobedience, but Milán took his time collecting as much saliva as possible before finally leaning over and spitting it right into their throat with as much force as possible. The strange sensation immediately made Blake retch, but before they could get a chance to do anything, Miláns fingers left their mouth again and started pushing their jaw back. "Now, be good and swallow." He didn't even look at them as they struggled to try and break free from his iron grip, but one of his fingers had slipped away, towards their throat, to make sure they complied. And they did, after realizing how pointless all of this was.
It was embarrassing as all hell, to be bound to another person's will like that, but Milán left them very little time to contemplate this strange feeling, as he let go of their jaw and walked off with no more warning or complaint. Blinded by the sudden return of light, Blake was left with no room to cry or fight back, only silence as they tried to set all those thoughts aside, and prepare for what would be next - surgery.
They didn't know a lot about medicine, or bodies, but they knew that this would leave them hurting for weeks, even if Milán really was good at his job. But would someone leading a chop shop really care? Would he really bother making sure they weren't going to bite the dust because of this? He was only here to sell the salvageable bits of the insides of whoever ended up underneath his knife, after all. Internal bleeding, infections and fuck, even dumb luck might be enough to kill Blake after they got out of this… if they got out of this. This wasn't an attempt to recuperate losses, or just a warning, no, this was clearly meant as punishment.
Milán returned to their side, in mask and gloves, sporting a scalpel. "Scream if you start to feel the pain," he offered helpfully, while starting to push their shirt aside. "I might need to break a rib, but we'll see when I get there." He genuinely seemed unbothered by the idea, but Blake could have thrown up right there and then, just picturing that. But they said nothing, just balling up their fist in preparation of whatever they would feel next. Eyes pinned on the light, little black spots formed in their field of vision. They were hoping that even if they made the mistake of looking down at their stomach, the afterimage burned into their retina would save them from seeing the worst. But Milán hadn't lied, they truly felt nothing but the pushing and pulling against their chest.
Once they trusted that there was truly nothing to feel, Blake closed their eyes and listened to Milán work. He didn't comment on anything, simply grunting and pushing against their flesh. They had to wonder how far along he was, if this was going to take much longer. But at the same time, another part of their mind trailed off, inspired by the sounds of a large man hovering above them, groaning and maybe even moaning as he entered them. How incredibly inappropriate for their current situation, but Blake's mind did not let themselves be stopped by that. It's been a while since they've been fucked by a man. They were attracted to many of them, but often too scared of them. How fitting. But still, it was strangely comforting, to imagine being wanted, instead of being gutted.
Not letting them sink too deep into their own fantasy, Milán finally spoke up: "You're lucky." Given no context, they looked at him, surprised, and were met with him pushing his hair aside with a bloody hand. It quickly forced them back into reality, back to the fact that they were being torn apart for profit. Swallowing, they didn't manage to ask, but he seemed to understand nonetheless. "There should be minimal damage to your insides, I did not even have to break anything," he turned away and walked off to some space Blake could not see. But as their eyes followed his shape, they ended up where they truly did not want to look.
Their stomach was still wide open.
A hand covered Blake's mouth before they could vomit. Too much was uncovered, they knew that, even without any knowledge of medicine. Unable to move much further, they watched as their own organs contracted with each gag reflex, pushing more and more vomit into their mouth. "I can't close that if you dirty it all up," for the first time tonight, Milán sounded genuinely upset with them. "I did not think I needed to tie you down further." Blake swallowed down the sour taste of stomach acid while quietly shaking their head. The tears had returned, but they couldn't even cry properly. They just felt so hollow, watching their own insides work diligently.
Believing that Blake had themselves under control, Milán disappeared for another moment, leaving them to try and control their breathing. Closing their eyes, they tried to focus on what was true. They still didn't feel anything. So, did it really matter? Something pushed their body, but they did not want to look. It couldn't be anyone besides Milán anyway. They did not want to know how he planned to close them up again. They didn't want to know anything anymore. The pushing and pulling did not stop for a long while, but they barely managed to pay attention to anything. It felt like an eternity of numbness, until suddenly, a hand grasped their own. "You're done."
"What?" Blake opened their eyes, only to be greeted by Milán out of his surgery gear. He was busy unbuckling their limbs, and didn't deem it worth an answer. Left hand now free, Blake reached towards their stomach and crossed the closed skin. "Where's the stitches? Or staples?" They were so confused. Milán raised an eyebrow, nearly disappointed. "No one is using that anymore. You think people would come here if I couldn't make sure they'd be able to get up and walk back like normal?" Not really trusting his words, but too curious to not do something, Blake slowly sat up. Their skin did not snap apart, guts falling out and onto the table, they didn't even start bleeding, no, it felt like nothing had happened at all. Despite no signs of this going wrong, Milán pushed them back down. "Hey, don't overdo it," he walked off to put some other things aside again, trusting they'd listen. Wrong fucking call.
In an instant, Blake was off the metal gurney and on their feet, running towards the closest door. No handle, they pushed it open and surprisingly, there was nothing to stop them. Blake sprinted down the barren hallway, steps echoing down into the darkness. To their surprise, they could not hear anyone following.