The Spy Who Shagged Me.

Lolololol ignore my title. Apparently I think I'm hilarious.

Well, now that Creative Writing is over. (Thank Godzilla) I thought I'd share the only good thing I thought came out of it, and that would be my short fiction piece.

So, here goes!

Rouge

With a black rag thrown over his head, he couldn’t see where he was being lead, but the churning of apprehension in his stomach proved that he already had an idea. After days of malnourishment, living off of leaves in a watered soup, he could barely keep himself steady, unable to hold himself up. He found himself literally being dragged along, the guards of the prison holding him up from the pits of his arms. Filthy bare feet barely touching the floor, a dull pain ached at his sockets. He willed for it to stop.
He knew they had reached their destination. Stopping abruptly, the guards rapped on what sounded like wood, and before he could even comprehend the elevated thumping beat of his heart onto his rib cage, he was pulled so forcibly, into what could only be perceived as yet another room of his imprisonment, that he fell face first onto the floor. His nose throbbed painfully where it had crushed against the hard cold tile, and he struggled to get to his feet, but his arms were bound behind his back and he was left helpless.
The first thing he noticed was the stench. Gasping for breath out of sheer panic, waves of the smell crashed through his sinuses. Vomit, human feces, decay, every unimaginable evil swarmed and burned his senses. He couldn’t let them hear his exasperated whimper, but his mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend the horror he now found himself in.
Without warning, rough hands violently pulled him to his feet, and before he could even balance his body’s momentum, his back was thrown on a hard board of some kind. Feet above, were shackled, and the fear tore through his veins. He struggled, tossed his chest as hard and fast as he could but he was quickly refuted as a blunt wallop to the head made him feel stars. His arms were unbound, but held by such strong hands, he was so weak, he couldn’t fight it. Stretched uncomfortably above his head, they too were imprisoned by metal bounds. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Oh dear god.
He could hear footsteps, echoing across the tile, voices. Suddenly, the rag was torn free and the bright white light momentarily blinded him. Shapes swum before his eyes, squinting, trying to make out his surroundings. Before he could even blink away the colorful dots jumping around his vision, his face was once again covered by a dark towel. It was heavy, and his quick frightened breath provided enough heat to leave his face in a sweat, and had him struggling to take in clean air.
A shuffle of bodies, click. A scraping sound…is that, sound of liquid. But his heart nearly stopped when a deep raspy voice spoke.
“What is your name?”
Curiously, his towel grew heavy, wet. Pressing down around his mouth and nose, suffocating. Carefully dosed water. A stream of it, falling into his throat. Gasping, struggling for air. Lungs burning in his chest, than it stopped, suddenly.
“State your crimes against the revolution!”
The rag is snatched off his face, blinding light again, chest pumping, heart racing. The air doesn’t come fast enough.
“Answer immediately!”
His ears rang with the order, blood pounding in his skull. He coughed and hacked, and struggled to find the words.
Not fast enough.
The rag was thrown over his face once more, and while he strained against his bounds, he was barely able to voice a protest before the water was again applied. Choking, gagging, lungs again burning with a fire unimaginable to the living. It’s over, dying, it’s over—
Blinding white light, air invading through, head swimming, a strangled reply in a recognizable voice that could only be his own quickly spewed and stuttered,
“I-I’ma a D-doctor.”
And with a harsh reply, the stranger in the room screamed,
“What have you done to undermine the regime?!”
Before he could think he sputtered out, “Nothing!” As if an answer like that was enough to calm them.
Again, he was subjected to the torture of near death, now his entire body burning and shaking with the sheer terror of it. He couldn’t feel or think of anything but the inevitability of his demise, the steady stream of water falling and choking him becoming nothing but a sort of familiar melody. Longer now, dragging on forever, overcome with pain, screaming with no sound, collapsing—
This time when the rag was removed, a terrible rumbling arose in his chest and bile forced its way from the confines of his human body. Worn, and nearly lifeless. He was freed from the board, thrown to the ground in a sitting position, and his head was held down by a strong hand straining the back of his neck. He shuddered and coughed it all up on the floor below him. Hazy vision and dizzy nausea he barely could make out the dirty green and white tile under him. It reminded him and looked like he could have been in a school. To be educated on being uneducated.
“You will follow my orders. This is your last chance. Answer me.”
Trembling in a fetal position, and shaking like a dog left out in the cold, he began to tell wild tales. Anything to appease them. He told them of adventurous days in the CIA, a life of betrayal. He spoke of how he used modern medicines in order to help cripple the revolution. How he purposefully tried to sabotage the agricultural community with his intelligence learned from evil American universities. He begun to lightly sob now, shaking his head as he relinquished every last treasonous confession.
After the last word had left his lips, the man who was questioning him stood up, still not daring to lift his head. The man was wearing thick black boots, circling him, preying on his victim like an animal stalking its dinner. The smell of leather filled his nostrils, mixing with the taste of salty tears and sweat.
“What about your family? Surely, a monster such as yourself has other filthy little comrades. What are their names?”
On the ground, he stiffened, entire body paling. No, please. Real tears now fought to escape, but he couldn’t let them see. Not them. His family were the only things left in this entire world worth protecting.
“I-I don’t-I have n-no one-“Eyes wide, the fear in his voice gave him away.
The footsteps stopped. The man stopped. He pulled his right leg back, and took one swift barreling kick straight to the chest of the victim.
Shattering searing pain. He howled in agony, breaking and wallowing in his own defeated and broken body. He felt like throwing up again, rolling on his back, shaking and holding back the tears.
“Do not cry in front of me. Do not break the rules. Give me their names.”
That was the one thing he could not would not do. No. His body felt like it could explode, the weight of the pain, the suffering tearing away at his mortality. He told himself he would die rather than give them up. He could not would not-
He found himself again being thrown onto the board, his back slamming against the flat long torturous device. He screamed, his ribcage felt like it was being ripped open, his heart bleeding through. Strings of pleading words ran from his mouth, panic and suffering controlling his mind. Arms and legs locked, the rag, water—fucking water, the ingredient of life, stealing all of his life away. Killing him. Lungs collapsing again, filling to the brim, drowning him in fear, mind swimming with the same relentless barrage of thoughts, stop, please stop, dear god I’ll do anything, make it stop. Thrashing and straining, body in flames, the terrible terrible feeling, it will be soon. Please.
The moment he was met with the savor of light, he immediately gave them up. All of them. God he was sorry, so sorry. The interrogator grew tired of hearing it, and scribbled down their names. The man knew the regime would be fetching them next.
And he was sick, he couldn’t believe it, his world was spinning and his mind was numb. He hated himself more than anything else, more than the men in the room, more than the reds, he couldn’t believe it. He had sent his family to their deaths.
The man was standing over him now, watching as he gasped and shook with the agony of his confession.
“I have what I need. But remember; to keep you is no benefit, To destroy you is no loss.”
The man, big black boots, said this with such finality, such inhuman emotion, it left a quiet air in the room.
He was eventually freed from his restraints, and was lead out of the room, head covered. Ashamed and defeated, a broken man. His legs were dragging on the floor now; he had no will to carry himself. Ironically, the thing he wished for more than ever was to put all the misery behind him. The guards were silent as they pulled him along; leading him finally to the tiny cell, he shared with a few others. He had never spoken to any of them, but he understood now the feeling they shared.
And when the door was shut, and the room was enveloped in darkness, he finally wept.


Yeap. That's it. It's about the Khemer Rouge in case nobody got that, I threw around little hints and my class thought this was all Gauntani--tortue peice so they didn't really care. Honestly, I think it's a bit unfortunate. I mean, I'm glad they thought it was a powerful story that really spoke to the universal message of torture or some shit, but I was really wanting to stimulate the fear, I thought, of how terrible the Rouge was. They were hunting and killing intellectuals specifically, it doesn't get more terrifying than that. Oh well, mission failed. Also, I barely edited this, shame on me, and there a few parts that should be italic as in thoughts but I'm too lazy to fix it.

Oh wells.

On another writing note, I can't stop thinking about Resident Evil and Ada's story. Darkside Chronicles didn't clear it up like everyone was expecting it too, and now with RE6 apparently 5 or so years away and being heralded as a reboot, I feel like it's never going to get explained. Her story is the only loose end left in the series, along with Sherry, but overall Ada's is the only major impact on all of the events that has not been explained.
So, I'm going to combine all of my theories after extensive (I'm a lvl 75 REfan btw) research on every plot element in the series, I'm going to write it myself. Yeap.
I'm pretty excited for it.
I'm not really sure if it's 'fanfiction' persay, because I'm doing something completely different I think. I'm going to be realistic and write within the confines of the series, as a story behind-the-scenes sort of thing.
And who knows, if I actually go through with what I plan to do, maybe Capcom will be interested in publishing it. They approved S.D. Perry's less than interesting take on the games, with her unrealistic mary-sue puppets and canonical crimes. Also, she has quite a few noncanon RE books that have nothing to do with the games that were published. Why couldn't I than? Her writing isn't all that impressive either, like mine, so I think maybe this could happen. I just gotta do it.

The fun part of course is the research for me. (Maybe I should go for that History major, since that's what history is all about, LOVE OF MY LIFE, and having that major will just tell everyone I'm a glorified 'professional' researcher.)

I've studying extensively the spy culture and real workings. The problem with most spy conceptions is it's mostly stylized and unrealistic. I'm attempting to counteract that. I know Ada is probably one of these Hollywood spies, but since not much is known about her at all I think I'd be able to salavage her integrity yet.

Yeap.

I'm pretty excited.