Chapter 2: The White Room - Isolde

“Let’s have a little fun, shall we?” My captor gloats as he picks up a small blade from the tray and I hear the sizzle as he slowly runs the blade down the inside of my forearm. I can’t hold back my scream as searing, burning pain spreads through my arm as I feel the blade slice through my skin. Fucking mercury! “What’s the matter? Don’t you like mercury? Oh, that’s right, bruja’s hate the stuff,” he smirks as he proceeds to run the blade down the inside of my other arm, forcing another scream of pain from me as I instinctively fight against my restraints.

“If you’re going to torture a race, you should at least learn the fucking name of the race you’re torturing!” I hiss at him, panting and trying to stop the tears that are building in my eyes as the burning pain from the mercury begins to spread through my body. Sick, twisted fucks.

I have a very selective list of people I loathe, but venators are pretty high on the list. Especially now. Venators and venatrixes are just humans with a complex. They think all supernatural beings are abominations that need to be exterminated and that it’s their sacred duty to wipe out each and every one of us. Absolute load of shit. If they knew how their organisation began their lives would implode.

For three days I’ve been under the capture and torture of the Cabrera family. A family of venators who run the Mexican branch of the Extinguo Concillium. An organisation of humans who dedicate their lives to killing supernaturals. What began as one man’s crusade of vengeance thousands of years ago, became a global organisation operated by a bunch of racists. Let’s just call a spade a spade. It’s not as though they’re hunting down supernaturals who hurt people or commit crimes, that’s something the Delegation does. No, these sick bastards are just people who love to kill people because they’re different. They don’t care if you’re good or bad. Not being human automatically makes you evil in their eyes. I’m already used to people thinking I’m evil, so this is hardly a new concept for me.

Hours of unending torture pass by; my body reduced to one burning exposed nerve as Mateo Cabrera stands over me, covered in my blood with a look of satisfaction on his face. My eyes flutter tiredly as my body begs to shut down in an attempt to block out the pain. My brain’s every impulse trying its hardest to save me from this hell.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mateo sings, pinching my face in his hands making me wince, “No passing out or I’ll have to use more adrenaline on you. You don’t want to have a heart attack do you?” He tsks. My heart is still pounding furiously since the last injection of adrenaline he gave me, just to keep me awake so I can suffer more. Saving humankind my ass. Who is saved by torturing people?

“Va te faire foutre,” I manage to say as exhaustion coats my words.

“I don’t speak French,” he says in annoyance, but his shape begins to come in and out of focus.

I must have thankfully blacked out, because when I’m coming to it’s as I’m being dumped back on the cold concrete floor of my cell; the many cuts and burns on my body screaming at me. I can feel the way my own blood is drying on my skin, resulting in a tight and itchy sensation, but it pales in comparison to the pain. I just have to hang in there a little longer, and hope I’m not killed before I get to complete my mission. I just have to stay alive long enough for him to arrive. Hopefully, I don’t have to wait too much longer, because I’m not sure how much more my body can take.

Exhaustion finally does its job, and with my body lying in a heap on the cold, dirty ground, I find myself slipping into unconsciousness, but it doesn’t bring the reprieve I hoped it would. The moment my eyes close my mind is filled with images of a raging fire burning out of control and echoes of my own screams as the flames burn my world to the ground. Three centuries later and the events of that night continue to haunt me. The night my world was forever changed, and my life plunged into endless darkness. The night I lost everything.

Once upon a time I was a happy person who had everything a person could hope for; a bright future and a loving family to be there to celebrate my accomplishments and guide me through my days. Life was perfect, and then one night it was all taken from me. These sicks bastards can torture me to death if it pleases them, nothing they do to me will ever compare to the hell I’ve been living. They can never make me suffer more than I’ve already suffered. They’re welcome to try, but they’ll find my tolerance level beyond what they can comprehend.

Some days I ask myself why do I bother? Why do I keep pushing forward and fighting at all? Why not just give up and call it a day? I think about it all the time; just giving up, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Giving up isn’t who I am, and if I did, then it means all the people who turned on me, and the person who betrayed me would get away with it. If I gave up, then those I loved would never have any justice. The ones I loved would have died in vain. I may not have been able to save them, but I won’t let their deaths mean nothing. I live and I fight because they can’t. I keep my voice so I can speak for those who don’t have one. One day everyone will know the truth. If I have to endure a little extra suffering as I await that day then so be it. My time will come, and when it does, I will show those who have wronged me no mercy.