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No. 2485
I have a lot of trouble conveying emotion in this one. I'm trying to write the Engineer from a slightly more logical standpoint, at least for now when he is looking at it like it is an object, and not an actual person.

Please crit me, or give me ideas.

~~~~~~

The overhead light swung back and forth a little, casting a white glow on the single gurney, and the cloth-covered form lying motionless on it. A door opened, and the distinct clicking of boots echoed the small room as a man strode into the light. He straightened his labcoat, checking a tray of instruments, making sure they were all shining clean, with no rust or residue. Each move was calculated, precise, perfect. He tossed his gloves in the trash, and looked upwards, to the glass ceiling, so others of his team could look down at his work. He reached over to a switch, flicking it on. There was a loud hum of a microphone adjusting, and then silence.

“Ve vill begin zhe interrogation of zhe prisoner.”

His heavy accent echoed the room, and the observation deck above. With a clean set of gloves, he pulled the sheet off the gurney, revealing the captive, a man in a finely tailored blue suit, strapped down as if he was an unstable mental patient. An IV was inserted in his arm, and he groaned softly when he started to come around. Seeing the light hanging above him, he slowly looked around. Finding himself restrained, he naturally struggled, and seeing the good doctor, the color left his skin.

“Zhe prisoner vas apprehended zhis morningk on zhe battlements. Prisoner iz identified as a BLU Zpy of average build, zhough he iz underveight. Ve vill begin noe.”

I watched it begin, as I always did. The Medic knew what he was doing, and did it well. But in the back of my mind, I could sense something was different this time. Whether it was how the Medic moved, or because of the captive himself, something felt wrong. We had never managed to get our hands on a Spy before. And this one felt different, this one was darker, a little less noble than the rest of those BLU bastards.

There was something in his eyes. I can see it.

The Medic picked up a needle from his tray, and pushed up the man’s sleeve. He felt along for the vein, and stuck the needle under the skin, deep into the arm. There was a smirk on his face as he did so. The Spy groaned softly, and I could see his eyes rolling upwards, scanning the ceiling as whatever the man put in him coursed through his veins.

The interrogation was the same as with every prisoner. Drugs. Questions. Slap. Questions. Rinse and repeat. But this Spy, this Spy never said a word. Not once. No cry of pain. He never said a word. This frustrated the Medic. I had seen plenty of poor fools resist the Medic at first, but they eventually gave in.

Another syringe of liquid was inserted into his arm, and he tried to pull away. There was a stretching sound as the leather restraints pulled against their anchors. Medic pinned him down, inserting the needle into his neck. There was still no sound from him, but I saw the pain in his face. Medic snarled, frustrated by the captive’s lack of ‘cooperation’. He stomped from the room, screaming something in German.

I walked down to the examination room itself. I had to see this Spy. This strange Spy. Looking at him from the observation deck was not enough. I had to see him with my own eyes.

He had the standard suit, the dark dusty blue with pinstripes, the tie, the gloves, the balaclava. Nothing looked out of place. Or out of the ordinary. He did look thin, and pale. His face was twisted in pain, his arms pulling at the restraints. I pulled my goggles off, and took off my glove. I wanted to pity him, there was something almost wrong, watching him here. I put my hand on his head, and the touch seemed to calm his struggles. I tried to pull his eyes open, I had to know what was different about him.

He resisted my touch, but he opened his eyes.

They were hollow. Empty hollow eyes. Not the eyes of our Spy. Our Spy always held himself high, his eyes full of schemes and tricks. But this, this was different. His eyes looked lost, alone. I felt my stomach lurch, and I wanted to pity him. He pulled away as much as he could. I let him be, and started to turn away just as Medic and Sniper strode into the room.

I could not stay to watch them both. One is horrible enough, and his pet is just as bad.

Perhaps he would speak soon, and end what was coming to him.

I’ll have to check on him tomorrow… if he’s still alive.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 2486
Very intriguing! I really like this story, and the way you wrote Engie's reactions to everything was awesome.

My only critique is that it's unclear how long Medic was torturing him before storming out. It seemed like he gave up too soon for a moment there. I pretty much liked everything else, though. Is there going to be more? ;D
>> No. 2498
more is on the way, anon.
>> No. 2499
Here it is.

Something is wrong with the Engineer.

~~~

He was still there when I checked the next day. Alive, but only in the loosest sense of the word. At least our Medic was nice enough to put him on a machine, something to keep him breathing. The German had a habit of playing with his captives, and recording them for later… unsavory actions. He couldn’t just kill them off, even if they were stubborn. The man knew better. I gathered his tapes, settling down to watch them. Everything I had seen the man do didn’t make me cringe anymore, but this was different.

Medic started with the chest, because it is the first thing he saw. Slapping him around clearly wasn’t working. He never said a word. Medic had started cutting into his chest, into his skin. Pale as he was, his blood was still red. But still, he never responded to the man’s questions. The incisions were nothing. He must have been tortured before. I don’t know. The Spies may go through this regularly. Something else was injected in his veins, and that at the very least got him to moan softly. I had to check it again, it was hard to hear. Medic can get horrid when he wants to, and this time, he wanted to.

I don’t understand why he continues to devise horrible tortures for other human beings.

But this Spy took it all. Pinpricks, cuts, lashings, everything without a sound. I had to turn off the tape. I couldn’t watch most of it. The Spy was different. Confusing. And infuriating. I went to go see him, the Medic and his pet nowhere to be found. Good.

Those empty eyes looked up at me when I approached. He knew. Somehow, he knew I was coming. I’m not the sneakiest person here, but I’m quieter than Scout, or Medic. But he knew it was me. Something about it, and he knew exactly who it was. I couldn’t see his expression over an oxygen mask. Those eyes. Those eyes, empty as they were, shot through me. It was not something I could accept right away. Those eyes should have been filled with pain, hate, suffering, any sort of emotion. But there was nothing.

I felt pity for him yesterday. But those eyes made me feel something worse. He was mocking us with those eyes. He knew what we wanted, but he would not give it up. His arrogance was in those eyes. I knew it. I could feel it.

Before I could stop myself, I brought my fist down on his head like a hammer. His body jolted, the machines screeched angrily at me, and I may have broken something, because there was blood on my hand. But those eyes looked at me still. Those eyes stared, mocking, laughing at me. I hit him again. And again.

But those eyes still looked at me.

Frustrated, and angered, I stormed out of the room, passing Medic as I went down to my workshop. There was blood on my glove.

That night, I couldn’t get that Spy out of my head. He never said a word to me, but those eyes haunted me. Those eyes mocked and laughed at me. Those eyes said everything. I hated Spies on principle, but this was different. I wanted to see him squirm and flail and suffer. I wanted to hear him scream for mercy, wanted to see him on his knees begging for it. I wanted him to crawl, wanted him to feel pain. I wanted to reinvent the word to him.

I wanted to break him.
>> No. 2500
Wow...it's nice to see a different Engie, but it's still shocking me a bit.

Anyway, I hope there's more.
>> No. 2502
I am intrigued
>> No. 2503
>>5
>>6

Seconding both of these. Please proceed.
>> No. 2505
Proceed......
>> No. 2506
HOLY EFFING CRAP YES.

This is the anon from before and I'm officially loving this story now. I'm sorry, I have no critiques on the second part. It was amazing. ;_;
>> No. 2509
go on, I beg of you
>> No. 2518
Omg that was awsome and the first paragraph really scared me
>> No. 2523
As promised, here is more.

Anything you want to see done to this Spy?

~~~~~

Medic wouldn’t let me near him.

He kept going on about how I almost killed our only lucky shot at having a Spy under our thumb. I can’t say I cared too much. I wanted the man to look at me and beg. I wanted him to crawl after me on his goddamn KNEES. I sat in my workshop, fiddling with something. The designs were there, I had the machine all laid out in pieces. Now I had to work. If I could make something for my plans, then Medic would have to let me have him. I wanted him.

I don’t believe I ever left the workshop from the time I started to put that contraption together to the time I finished it. I don’t know how much time had passed between those two moments in time.

When I did come out, imagine my glee to find out that he was still there. No longer on machines to keep him breathing, though his head and arms were still bandaged. He looked up at me with those eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes mocked me. I removed him from his bonds, and he didn’t resist. I picked him up, and he was light and limp. That anger flared inside me. He didn’t bother fighting.

I carried him to the workshop, and set him on the floor.

“You caused me a lotta trouble, boy…”

My machine activated. Its claws reached out of the darkness, and pulled that gutless coward up by his wrists. A second set grasped his ankles, pulling his body taught. I couldn’t help but smirk at him. But he still lay there limp, eyes staring at me. Those goddamn eyes. I had my wrench at my side, and soon it was in my hand. He mocked me. He was mocking me.

My wrench hit him across his jaw. His head turned with the blow, blood and a tooth hit the floor of my shop. I grabbed him by the jaw with my free hand, feeling the fracture I had caused. He flinched, and he tried to pull away. And yet he said nothing. I held him, forcing him to look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

“LOOK AT ME!”

I saw it in his eyes. Fear. He was afraid of me! Of ME! Ha! That yellow-bellied, gutless coward feared me! I gripped him tighter. His body shivered, and he wanted to pull from me. I laughed at him, and I slammed the wrench back into his chest. There was a sharp crack. I could hear it.

I had him.

I had him and I would never let him go.
>> No. 2524
wow O.o that was, different carry on :D
>> No. 2530
There are so many dirty things I want done to this man... but then this would have to be moved to afic if my wishes came true.
>> No. 2537
Damn. Engie got issues.
>> No. 2570
I may have to do an /afanfic/ version of this... or do some 'lost' chapters.

As I have a feeling some of you want some Spy BDSM.

Or not, I could be wrong.

~~~~~~

Medic asked me where the prisoner went. I was more than happy to show him. The Spy was mine now. I was going to keep him as long as I could. Like a little pet. I brought Medic down to my workshop, and showed him the machine keeping our captive in place. Blood was still dribbling from the corner of his mouth, and he stirred when we walked in. Not a sound. Not a word. The man strode up to the Spy, his heels clicking on the floor. He took his jaw in hand, and I could see the BLU wince. Musta touched the fracture.

When he was satisfied with his inspection, Medic started back for the door.

“Do not let him die.”

With that, I was alone.

With my little Spy.

I started to fiddle with the machine. Had to move him the way I wanted him to be. His arms were pulled behind him, and I watched his body jerk as the muscles pulled and stretched. He started to squirm, but stopped when his arms locked into place. He was forced onto his knees, right at the level I wanted him. His head slumped forwards, as if he was tired. I had a plan for that. Something to keep his head up.

Got the idea from Medic, and his little pet Sniper. Wide band of leather, with some steel supports in it, makes it hard to move. Like a little collar. I wrapped it around his neck, earning a wince and a grimace at the sudden uncomfortable state he was in. And those eyes. There was anger in those eyes. Haha… he was mad at me. Musta been humiliating. But I still wanted him to beg. Wanted him to call me his ‘master’… like Medic and his loyal little pet.

I’d have to talk to Medic. There must be a way to train someone like that. Wait until they saw him walking at my feet. Crawling after me on broken legs.

Heh… heh heh heh…

I cupped his head in my hand.

“We’ll start’cher trainin’ tomorrow.”

And I left him in darkness.
>> No. 2571
yeah, taking this to afic would be a good idea.
also yes, yes, BDSM is good for happy soul. have spy on a leash, barking like a dog. have him whipped, spanked, called a bitch; the works. >:D
>> No. 2572
AFIIIIIIIC
I need moar spy rape in my life.
>> No. 2573
Oh my god, I'm not even into BDSM and I'm totally loving this.

I... I would not object if you continued this in /afanfic/.
>> No. 2578
Nobody likes a cock tease Wolf keep it going.
>> No. 2623
I'm a teasing bitch.

We'll have to move this to /afanfic/ soon...

Post your suggestions here before the move!

~~~~~

He didn’t look too happy to see me the next day. His neck must’ve been sore, forced up all dainty like all night. Musta lost feeling in his arms too. I took my time, waltzing in with a bowl of water. His angry eyes followed me, followed the bowl. I set it down in front of him, and took his broken jaw. Now he was lookin’ at me.

“We’re gonna start this slow, Spah.”

He frowned at me, at my tone. Better reaction than none.

“You tell me your name, boy, and I let go of your arms.”

He tried to pull away, his face twisted into a scowl. But I’m a patient man. I can wait as long as he can. I let go of him, moving over to tinker at my workbench. After everything we’d put him through, it wasn’t too long before I heard it. A songbird’s voice, really. Smooth. Faint. And at the same time, I could hear his humiliation, his hate, his anger. That alone made me smirk. I had his name now. I rose from my bench and walked over to the machine.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard was it, Spah?”

He slumped forwards when I released his arms, the appendages hitting the floor limply. It took him a while to move them, flexing his fingers to regain feeling in his arms. He hugged himself first, shivering a little. I enjoyed watching him, his arms reaching for the bowl of water. After spilling half of it over his suit, he set it back on the floor. I couldn’t help but grin.

“Drink it up, mutt.”

I hear him swearing in some other language. Probably French. But he refuse to do so. Now we had to start the teaching. I strode over to him, and knelt down. In one swift motion, I shoved his face into the bowl of water. His skinny little frame started thrashing, and the fine leather on his gloves scuffled on the floor, scratching and wearing away as he tried to pull his face out. I counted to thirty before I pulled him up. He was gasping, his balaclava soaked, water dripping off his nose and chin. There was terror in his eyes, only for a moment, before he was angry again.

I let go of him, and he reached up to wipe his face.

“Simple rules, mutt. Do what’cher told, and everything goes smooth.”

I pet him like he was a dog, told him if he was hungry, he would have to beg for it. He was silent. Smirking, I went back to my workbench.

I’m a patient man.

I could wait it out.
>> No. 2636
*drools happily*
Engie doesn't take any crap :D
>> No. 2638
I am getting more and more fascinated with each update, and I mean that in a very good way. The way you write Engie is certainly unique. Keep going!
>> No. 2641
oh youuuuu :D you made me happy in an evil way >:3
>> No. 2677
More is coming, I swear. I promise.
>> No. 2736
Hm... there is something oddly satisfying in watching the bastard get kicked around.


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