That Violet Disciple - Poppy Playtime

3.5 - Enemy Mind

DogDay's eyes wouldn't focus properly. The world was so blurry, but he was sure of where he was: in the cell, strung up and praying for the next moment the pain would die back down.

This didn't seem right. He'd left this place. The angel came and... and....

He stared at the floor. Did he even escape? Maybe his mind was so desperate for relief he just dreamed the whole thing. After all, the little toys wouldn't let their meal leave. CatNap certainly wouldn't let him go.

He was suddenly aware of someone else with him. He looked up. "You! You're Poppy's angel!"

The angel stood there, face a pitiless mask. It unnerved DogDay. "A-angel? Please, help me. I don't want to die here, and I know you can help me."

The angel stared. "Why?" His mouth didn't move.

"Because... because..." DogDay let the word hang. Why should the angel help him? They didn't know each other, DogDay certainly didn't do anything to deserve the help, and Poppy said the angel was there to defeat the Prototype, not save broken toys.

DogDay stared at the floor again. Familiar despair crept through him. "I don't have a reason. There's nothing left to save, not here."

"Good for you to realize that."

DogDay looked up. He was eye to eye with the angel. He didn't remember the angel being that tall....

"You are in pain." The angel's mouth still didn't move. "Good. You should feel more of it."

White hot pain erupted through DogDay's body as the angel clawed his hand into the open wound, gouging through the soft and exposed tissues.

"AAAHHH! S-stop, please! What are you-! AAAH!"

The angel pulled its hand away. DogDay hung limply and groaned as his blood dripped beneath him.

The angel inspected its own blood-stained hand. Its lip curled with disgust. "Nothing but a sack of plastic and fabric stuffed with human gore. You really are an abomination."

The words hurt almost as much as the wound. "A-... angel, please."

"Aw, the little puppy is begging. Go on. Beg some more."

DogDay kept his head down. The angel clicked its tongue then pressed its hand against DogDay's sides. "Huh. You actually have ribs. Good, more things I can break."

DogDay was shoved against the wall, then a fist drove into his side and caved in his brittle bones. He screamed. "S-s-stop! It hurts!" 

The angel pulled his ear and forced him to look up. Red smoke poured from the angel's half-open mouth that still didn't move as it spoke. "An angel was sent for you, little puppy. Didn't you ever think that it might be an angel of death?"

DogDay stammered, too breathless with dread to reply.

The angel gripped his upper arms, though he felt more hands on his forearms and wrists. Pressure built. His bones creaked.

"No! No, no, please!"

The angel closed its fists. Pain like exploding glass tore through DogDay's arms. The restraints were gone. He slumped to the ground, unable to move his hands and protect himself. His head swayed listlessly as he groaned from the torment. 

The angel bent down and again tore at his open wound. DogDay wailed. "Please, stop! You're going to k-kill me!"

"You should've died a long time ago, puppy." The angel removed its hands. "But go on, beg some more. Maybe I'll let you suffer a little longer before you die."