He didn’t know what he expected messing with the MoD9 gang.
He had heard they had a knack for some real sick torture - particularly of people who made their shitlist.
He wasn’t stupid though. Just too much of a busybody to let his sister go around dating a dude from that notorious gang. So he fucked the guy up. Did a real stand-up job on the guy’s face and got in some great kidney shots.
So, yeah, no, stupid is correct.
He survived being revenge dragged behind a dirt bike for --- how long had that lasted? A lot longer than he had ever lasted on the back of a mechanical bull. Being dragged was an interesting experience. Hadn’t he always sought unique experiences?
Pain was a funny thing. Looking back at that moment, the thing that bothered him most was the dust stabbing his eyes. It wasn’t the arm that had been dislocated from the shoulder socket and shredded like it had gone through a meat grinder. It wasn’t layers of peeled away skin along his side, and back, and down his thigh. It wasn't the incandescent pain of his mangled beyond hope - I didn’t know it could bend like that - arm. It wasn’t the burning road rash. It wasn’t stabbing broken ribbed breaths. It was the damn red dirt in his eyes. More annoying than painful.
Though he felt the pain coursing through his entire body he thought that he had transcended beyond it. The pain had crescendoed until it hit a plateau in which being and time and space became incomprehensible and everything sort of melted away into this new form of consciousness.
The pain he seemed able to acclimate psychologically too, but that dust in his eyes just wouldn’t let him.
Then he survived the rough load-up into the back of a pick-up and bumpy ride back to a bunker.
And then he survived the part when they sawed that ruined arm clean off his body.
Now having rejoined the world of the conscious, Owen didn’t know if he would survive much longer.
Well, he didn’t know if he wanted to.
Not when he was laying on his side on a cold floor, in a clammy warehouse bunker, shivering and bleeding into some dirty rags bound around the massive wound at his shoulder and staring over at - what was that?
These two scarred up looking guard dogs were jumping at something hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Something would drip from it every now and then and the dogs would clamor over one another to lick the droplet.
An air conditioner hummed to life sending drafts of colder air over his trembling body as he watched the frustrated dogs bark at what was definitely his own arm. It was hung by the shoulder where the flesh looked shredded from the ineffective way it had been sawed it from his body - didn’t they have any better tools for it? He thought they were professionals, but their limb severing set up was amateur at best.
The air that kicked on had enough force to make the arm hung there by a rope twist and turn these little flourishing pirouettes to the song of barking below.
Owen closed his eyes on the macabre scene and decided with the utmost determination to just go ahead and die. He almost changed his mind on dying wondering whether his finale would be as good as the rest of his torture so far - but no - he wasn’t staying until the end of this movie.
Much to his chagrin, cold water and slapping to his cheeks roused him and he was confronted by the visage of his savior who was sporting a handsome beard and a withering stare. “I told you to leave it alone. Let’s go.” Darcy kept all concern from his face as he pulled at Owen’s good arm encouraging the dying man to sit up. He avoided staring at what had been done to his friend and treated this as if it were any other day waking Owen from a night of drinking.
Just another day in this fucking fucks life.
“You got your ‘I told you so’ now if you don’t mind I was very busy dying here. It’s quite hard work. Taking all my mental focus.” When Owen put his mind to a thing it was hard to turn him back in the other direction. He had his pride and all.
“Shut the fuck up and stand up, Owen. You’re going to be fine. Less an arm, but you’ll survive.” Darcy sounded confident, but wasn’t entirely sure. That was a lot of blood on the floor.
“Well I’ve already decided to die. I would hate to disappoint myself.”
“Being a disappointment is what you’re best at. It's your calling. Now get up.”
Owen allowed himself to be helped up gulping at air from the pain. He hunched into himself guarding the most injured parts. “This is the bottom, eh? Not much worse than this. Nowhere to go but up.”
“No doubt.” Darcy answered flatly as he arranged Owen’s good arm around his back and acted as a leaning post while they walked. “To the stars.”
Owen laugh-groaned in response to Darcy’s sarcasm as they passed the corpses of the guard dogs and under that swinging arm.
___
They were in the middle of a screaming match.
“I didn’t save your ass for you to throw it away to the CAF! The level of your idiocy never ceases to amaze me.”
“Fuck you! Fuck you. You didn’t lose your arm! I didn’t ask for this.”
“Plenty of people manage to live without limbs! You would have been fine!”
“Yeah and plenty of people sell their freedom in exchange for cybernetics! So fucking sue me.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“I won’t live long enough for that.”
“They never release their contractors.”
Owen laughed morosely as he drank straight from a bottle of liquor wielded by his shining new cybernetic arm he’d gotten in exchange for a lifetime contract of dangerous corporate security work for the CAF.
They were both wrong though.
Owen did live long enough to regret it. And he had been released from service. But that was because the last bastion of order - the CAF - fell. And now he was stuck with a high-maintenance prosthetic in a time when the world had been practically flung back into the dark ages.
__
Pain was a funny thing.
There were places where the nerve lead attachments were eroding something awful - it was actually the damn dust that gathered inside the shoulder cuff and irritated his skin to no end that bothered him more than the phantom nerve pains that woke him gasping with tears in his eyes in the dead of night.
Oh yeah. He regretted it.
He wasn’t supposed to have stayed for the end of the movie.
Hey, at least he got some fucking sick scars and a great story out of it.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
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