The Monster B

Backed against the door, his struggling figure reflected in her eyes.

Vincent knelt on the ground, restrained by chains on both arms, wound so tightly it made red ligature impressions around his wrists.

His dreadlocks, down from its usual updo, stuck to the sweat of his bare chest and back. In the darkness, his light gray eyes shone crimson red. They had no life in them; like his soul had disappeared, replaced by an empty shell.

Out of his mind, Vincent jilted aggressively.

His piercing cries of pain and the shifting of metal against metal saturated the air as he tried with all his might to be free of them.

The torture of his body rebelling against itself was too much to bear. A monthly consequence for his abstinence from Lance's formulas. Each second in this state brought him an insurmountable amount of pain.

At that moment, his body craved the drug formulas so badly that it attacked itself without mercy. It was like he had been thrown in a lake of fire and knives.

He oozed with