Chapter 23 The Black Chamber
POV: Callum Brennan
Location: Supernatural Prison, Week Two
Time: Day Twelve
I've been in the Cage for twelve days. My rib's healing wrong. The cuts on my face are infected. I can't sleep because the silver burns constantly. And I've lost at least fifteen pounds because the food makes me sick.
But I'm still alive. That counts for something.
I'm lying on the metal cot when guards appear outside my cell. Three vampires. They're not the regular patrol. These ones are wearing different uniforms. Black instead of gray.
"Prisoner 4729. On your feet."
I stand slowly. Everything hurts. The movement pulls at partially healed injuries.
"Where are we going?"
"Disciplinary review. The warden wants to see you."
I haven't broken any rules. Haven't caused problems. Haven't even spoken to other prisoners. But that doesn't matter here. The guards don't need reasons to hurt you.
They chain my wrists and ankles. The silver burns where it touches skin. I've got permanent scars now from where the chains rest. Raw, red burns that won't heal.
We walk through corridors I haven't seen before. Deeper into the facility. The screaming gets louder down here. More desperate. Some of it doesn't even sound human anymore.
We reach a heavy steel door. One guard unlocks it. The screaming's much louder when the door opens.
"Welcome to the Black Chamber," the lead guard says. "This is where we handle difficult prisoners."
They push me through the door.
The Black Chamber is exactly what it sounds like. A large room painted black. Black walls, black floor, black ceiling. The only light comes from overhead fluorescents that cast harsh shadows.
There are wolves chained throughout the room. Maybe ten of them. All in various states of torture. Some are suspended from the ceiling. Some are chained to the floor. Some are in cages too small to stand in.
All of them are screaming.
Vampires move between the wolves. Feeding, burning, cutting. This isn't punishment. This is entertainment. The vampires are laughing. Placing bets. Comparing techniques.
This is what the Cage really is. Not a prison. A torture facility where vampires indulge their sadism legally.
The guards chain me to a metal frame in the center of the room. My arms are pulled above my head. My feet barely touch the floor. The position's agonizing within seconds.
A vampire approaches. Female, maybe three hundred years old based on the power radiating off her. She's wearing a pristine white dress that's somehow unstained despite the blood everywhere.
"New toy," the vampire says. She circles me like I'm merchandise. "Born wolf. Pack-raised. Convicted of murder. This one's soft. Should break easily."
"Please. I haven't done anything wrong. I've followed all the rules."
"Wrong?" The vampire laughs. "You think we need you to do something wrong? This is the Black Chamber. We bring wolves here for fun. Not punishment. Fun."
She pulls out a blade. Silver, obviously. The metal gleams under the harsh lights.
"Let's see how you scream."
The vampire cuts my chest. Not deep. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to let the silver enter my bloodstream directly. The pain's immediate and overwhelming. Silver poisoning spreading from the wound.
I scream. Can't help it. The pain's too much.
The vampires in the room react. Some laugh. Some place bets. One calls out: "Five minutes until he passes out. Anyone want to wager?"
The female vampire cuts me again. And again. Methodical. Systematic. Creating a grid pattern across my torso. Each cut burns like acid.
"Most wolves pass out by now," the vampire says. "You're tougher than you look."
I'm not tough. I'm terrified. But passing out means being vulnerable. Means not knowing what they're doing to me. So I stay conscious through sheer terror.
The vampire sets down the blade. "Let's try something else."
She brings out a bottle. Holy water. I've never seen it before but I know what it is. Blessed water that burns supernatural creatures. Particularly effective on werewolves.
"This is my favorite part," the vampire says.
She pours the holy water over my wounds. The silver cuts are already agony. The holy water makes it unbearable. It feels like my skin's dissolving. Like I'm being burned from the inside out.
I scream louder. Can't control it. The pain's beyond anything I've experienced.
The other vampires watch with interest. Taking notes. Comparing my reactions to other wolves they've tortured.
This goes on for hours. Cutting, burning, pouring holy water. The vampire's methodical. Keeps me conscious but barely. Pushes me to the edge of passing out without letting me slip over.
Other wolves around the room are going through similar ordeals. I can hear them screaming. Some are begging. Some are just making animal sounds. All of them are suffering.
"Betting pool closes in ten minutes," a vampire calls out. "Who's breaking first?"
They're betting on us. On who'll break mentally before we break physically. It's a game to them.
The female vampire leans close. "Want to know a secret? If you go feral, we have to put you down. Prison policy. Can't have feral wolves in general population. So if you want the pain to stop, just let go. Slip into your wolf mind completely. We'll end it quick."
She's offering me suicide disguised as mercy. Go feral, get executed, escape this nightmare.
For a moment, I consider it. The pain's too much. The torture's too much. Dying might be better than six more months of this.
But then I think about Cormac. My brother who framed me. Who destroyed me. Who's probably sleeping peacefully in Father's bed right now.
If I die here, Cormac wins. Completely. Permanently. I'll be the criminal brother who couldn't survive prison. Who went feral and got put down like a rabid dog.
I won't give Cormac that satisfaction.
I force my mind away from the pain. Start thinking about something else. Anything else. Childhood memories. Father teaching me to track. Pack runs through Richmond Park. Callum and Cormac, seven minutes apart, learning to lead together.
The pain's still there. Still overwhelming. But I'm not present for it. I'm somewhere else in my head. Somewhere safe.
"He's retreating mentally," the female vampire observes. "Dissociating. That's advanced. Most wolves can't do that."
"Makes it less fun if he's not fully present," another vampire complains.
"We can bring him back. Pain always brings them back eventually."
They try new tortures. More creative ones. But I'm getting better at retreating. At going somewhere else while my body suffers. It's not perfect. The pain still breaks through. But it's manageable now.
After three hours, the vampires get bored. I'm not screaming enough. Not breaking fast enough. I'm ruining their entertainment.
"Enough for today," the female vampire says. "Return him to his cell. We'll try again tomorrow."
The guards unchain me. I collapse on the floor. Can't stand. Can't walk. They drag me back through the corridors, my feet trailing blood.
Other prisoners watch from their cells. Most look away. Seeing what happens in the Black Chamber makes survival harder. Better not to know.
They throw me in my cell. I lie on the concrete floor, too damaged to make it to the cot. The silver burns are deep now. The holy water damage is worse. I can feel my body trying to heal but failing. The silver poisoning's too advanced.
This is how I die. Not in one torture session. In accumulated sessions. Each one doing damage my body can't fully repair. Eventually, the damage will be too much.
I'm drifting in and out of consciousness when I hear a voice. From the cell next to mine. An older wolf, been here longer than me.
"Stop fighting back," the wolf whispers. "Compliance is survival. Forget who you were."
"What?"
"You're still holding onto your identity. Born wolf, pack member, Beta. That's what makes the torture work. The vampires are breaking who you were." The voice is tired. Defeated. "Let it go. Become nothing. Then they can't break you because there's nothing left to break."
"I can't do that."
"Then you'll die screaming. Like everyone else who holds on." The wolf goes quiet. "I was somebody once. Pack enforcer. Had a mate, had cubs. Held onto that for two months. The torture got worse every day. Finally, I let it all go. Became nobody. The torture stopped being effective."
"You're saying I should give up?"
"I'm saying you should survive. Six months is a long time. You won't make it as Callum Brennan. That person's too soft for this place. But you might make it as nobody. Just another broken wolf waiting for release."
The voice stops. I'm left alone with the advice.
Forget who I was. Let go of my identity. Become nothing.
Is that survival? Or is it just a different kind of death?
I don't know anymore. I just know that lying here on this concrete floor, covered in silver burns and holy water wounds, I can't imagine surviving five more months of this as myself.
Maybe the wolf next door is right. Maybe I need to become somebody else to survive.
Or maybe I need to become nobody at all.