Summary: You are an Inhuman with super hearing and get captured by the Watchdogs. Natasha breaks her cover in the group when their threats get too personal and singlehandedly takes down the entire faction to keep you safe.
Rating: Mature
Tags: angst, whump, violence, torture, bigotry, extremists, name calling, non-consensual touching, mentions/implied threat of rape, blood, broken bones, dehumanisation, guns, chained up
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Pain burst across your cheek, sharp and burning as your bone shattered under the pressure. Tears filled your eyes as his boot pressed harder still into your skin, grinding you beneath muddy flakes and smearing dog shit across your face. You winced as the warm spit landed on your forehead, slowly trickling down, bile sharp in your throat.
"Scum. Mongrel." They jeered, military grade boots pulling back to stamp on your bound limbs, bones cracking, flesh bruising with each vicious attack. They were unrelenting, yielding only when blood soaked your clothes and every breath was like a knife in your heart. "Inhuman bitch."
You were going to kill them. Forget making peace. They would die for this. Slowly. Painfully. You'd savour their suffering, too. It was the least they deserved.
"Get up, mutt." One hauled at the tatters of your shirt and tossed you against the wall. They laughed at the pained scream that fell from your lips, smacked you around until you couldn't scream any more. A skinnier man rammed the butt of his gun into your temple and you fell to your knees. "String it up."
They chained you to the metallic wall, arms pulled up over your head until your shoulder joints cracked. Blood coated the inside of your mouth, dripped from your nose and down your chin. Your eyes were almost swollen shut, the darkness almost a blessing as it kept you from seeing the twisted joy on their faces as they beat you.
One stabbed a needle into your neck, the frozen liquid jolting you awake. Frantic, adrenaline surging through your veins, your muscles shook so hard that they tensed up and your breath came short and desperate as the blurry world came into painfully sharp view. Around you, lumps of meat hung on hooks, the sharp fluorescent lights flickered, and you realised with disgust just where these bastards had brought you. A fucking slaughter house.
Another grabbed your chin, fingers digging into your throat. He waved a knife around your peripheral vision, the metallic surface glittering in the harsh lights, a sick, wicked grin on his face. "Show time, bitch."
You spat in his face, the heavy sting of another slap to the face a small price to place for the twisted smugness you felt. Muscles crying out at the strain, you swore through gritted teeth as you fought to twist yourself free or, at worst, lessen the pain. It was a futile waste of energy, you knew, but every millimetre eased the pressure and made it marginally easier to focus on breathing.
Slowly a group of others filled the slaughterhouse. Some were hard line members of the Watchdogs, sporting insignias of all manner of extremist groups, and others could have passed as ordinary members of a community. Lawyers, teachers, the dude that worked at the post office. But it wasn't them that held your attention, nor the ones itching to pull their blades from their belts and slash you until you resembled the other hanging carcasses.
