[Makebelieve] The Slave 4 (XFiles) Krycek/

[makebelieve archive]

The Slave 4
Author: PEJA
Email: makebelievearchive at gmail.com
Author's websites: http://peja1956.livejournal.com and
http://www.squidge.org/~peja/cgi-bin/search.php?action=recent
Fandom: XFiles
Pairing: Krycek/
Portrayed by: (optional)Nicholas Lea
Category:
Rating: FRAO
Status:
Spoilers:
Series/Sequel:
Brief Summary: Once upon a time
Warnings: BDSM, torture. Really dark nastiness happening
Notes/acknowledgments:
General thanks to all of you folks who are requesting short fics and improvs
in the various fandoms. You're keeping the words flowing.
Disclaimers:
Archive: Yes, but ask first, include the complete story and provide a URL to
the archive
Forwarding to other lists: Okay, but keep my name and headers attached. A
heads up would be nice as well.
Previous chapters can be read at http://peja1956.livejournal.com/118762.html.
Just follow the links at the end of the chapters



Once upon a time, in another life, long long ago, he had been a man. A man
confident in his own power. An arrogant man.

A foolish man.

Until God had turned an angry eye on him. And in that blinking he had
learned a biblical lesson...he had learned that God was indeed alive. And
vengeful.

His life as a man had been stripped from him, ended in hell on earth. The
man died, and the chattel had been born. Cast into Dante's circle.

A silent giggle whispered in his private mind. His own personal joke on the
holders, that private place. It was a gift his mind had built for him. A
sanctuary where he could laugh and run and laze in the sun. Where he could
flee when the punishments striped the flesh from his back, when hard flesh
forced its way into his body. A place where he was untouched. Happy.

He was there now. The strangeness of change had sent him deep into that
private place where he could wrap himself in the loving arms of...he knew
not who. He'd had no one when he was a man. He could remember that, and even
once in a rare while he could almost...not quite, but almost remember a time
when he actually had a name.

But right now he could only pray for the sameness to wrap im back up in its
velvet black horror. The beatings. The rapes. Even as he dreaded these
things, he could understand the sameness. Knew that it was the penalty of
his alive time wickedness.

He wanted the sameness back. Sweet Jesus, he wanted the sameness, the pain,
back.

Things were happening too fast. he couldn't understand. He didn't want to
understand.

After the killing time, after he'd been claimed by the new handler, he had
thought he would be brought back to his stall. Maye even have an icy cold
spray down to wash off the blood, although that usually meant he would be
brought before the handlers and masters for their entertainment.

He had not expected the loud shouting voices of strange men and women in
thick vests, speaking in abrasive grunts and sneers as the chattel were
herded into small groups. He had not wanted to hear the frightened cries of
the children, the screams of the females, and even some males as they were
unceremoniously hustled off into ambulances.

The screech of sirens and garish reds and blues of the rescue vehicles near
sent him to his knees with pain as they hurled lightning bolts of undiluted
pain through his head.

"Just a little prick," one of the new handlers had said when his own screams
had joined the chorus of terror. A little stick and then...nothing.
Blackness.

Sedative induced peace.

He awoke to ..comfort. Comfort that fueled his fear. Chattel were not
permitted to lie on a bed. Unless one of the masters had...No, He could not
move. His arms and legs, restrained.

Panic flooded him. His wide eyes darted around the room, landing on the
woman sitting in a quiet corner, a book in hand.

She happened to glance up as he stared at her.

His eyes darted away.

"Well well well, look whose back with us." she said.

He didn't need to look to know she had approached. The sound of her voice
was warning enough. Fixing a mask of calm over his panic, he veiled his eyes
under lush lashes and counted out his breathing, expecting the pain that
came with punishment.

"How are you feeling?" The woman's gentle hand circled a too thin wrist.
"Doctor wants you to have a complete physical before they speak with you."

He blinked in surprise, eyes opening too wide, catching sight of her for a
second longer than was acceptable at the best of times. His lashes lowered
quickly as he processed what she had said.

Why would she want to know how he felt? Why would they care? Unless...oh
God, what new games was his new handler planning for him?

She released his wrist, checking the I.V. hanging over him. "Can you tell me
your name?"

Name? yes, when he was alive he had had a name. it was...He gave mental
shrug. that was when he had been a human.

He resisted the urge to glance her way, nibbling his lower lip.

"Your name?" she repeated.

He swallowed a tremulous sigh. "Designation entertainment thrall. Lot number
5920-27. Expendable. How may I serve, mistress?"

"Look at me." she spoke gently.

He slowly lifted his lashes, revealing wary eyes. "Mistress."

"No, not mistress. I am Nurse Shelly. You are in a hospital. Do you
understand?"

Hospital...? He swallowed hard. Renewed panic darkened his eyes and his
hands curled into trembling fists. "Yes, Nurse." he managed to reel back the
obvious terror and maintain a calm facade, forcing his words past a tight
throat while his mind screamed for mercy against...He knew not what. The
last time one of the doctors had taken him to "hospital" he'd been unable to
walk or even speak for over a month.

If his new handler was a doctor....He was expendable. God, let it be quick.
And if it couldn't be quick, at least let it be clean.

"You're safe, now." the nurse assured him. "We're going to take care of
you." She smiled tenderly, but he only saw a cruel leer. "Now, can you tell
me your name?"

A shudder threatened to break his control but he held tight against it.
"Designation entertainment thrall. Lot number 5920-27. Expendable."

She opened her mouth to speak, but the door opened and a white coated man
entered. "Nurse Shelly, arrange for this man to be transported."

"Transported?" she asked, turning to address the doctor. "Surely he's not
ready to leave..."

"Out of my hands, Nurse." the doctor snapped, plucking the chart from her
hands and reading over the file. "He's a priority move. See to it. The men
coming for him will be here in..." he consulted his watch. "Ten minutes."

Flustered, the woman nodded and bustled across the room, beginning the
arrangements while the man on the bed watched.

She had not told him he could look away.

Transport arrived in the form of two massively burly men dressed as interns
and four suited men. No one spoke as the interns disengaged the I.V and
monitors and transferred him to a gurney. He was wheeled out in silence.

The trip to his new destination was equally silent. No one spoke to the man
in the gurney. He spoke to no one in return, simply stared at the roof and
pretended to be invisible.

Once the ambulance stopped he was unstrapped from the gurney and allowed to
stand, a blanket draped over him, making him tremble. Chattel were not
allowed modesty. they were to be naked in private as well as in public. On
those few occasions they were allowed to be exposed to public eyes.

He had never been.

He did not resist as his guard escorted him to a service elevator. No one
spoke as he fell to his knees beside his handler..handlers in the ride up.

One of the interns hauled him up as the doors opened and hustled him through
the hall to a door. The man knocked once and the door swung open.

He was pulled inside and the door swung shut on the men who had made up his
escort.

Confused by the many changes of handlers, he kept his gaze locked on the
gold carpet until the new hand dropped away from his arm. He sank gracefully
to his knees, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. "How may I serve?"
he murmured to the dark brown shoes standing before him.

A man knelt before him, cupping his chin and raising his head until their
eyes met. His eyes showed no recognition, even though a warning bell tolled
danger in the back of his head. He disregarded the niggling tickle, even as
his mind whispered. "God isn't done with you yet."

end part 4

I'm not sure I'm at all pleased with this chapter. tell me what your think

-- 
PEJA
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