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"I'm not telling you shit!" Phil spits.
A fist connects with his cheek the next moment, the force behind it enough to snap his head to the side and almost topple the chair he's bound to over. The taste of blood bubbles down his throat from a split lip. The man who punched him is wearing several golden rings - gaudy, but effective when it comes to beating people up. Pretty much means he's unapologetic about how much of an asshole he is, though.
Before Phil can fully recover, fingers are wound in his hair and yank his face to the front again.
"Have you considered making this easier on yourself?" the tall man asks Phil.
He licks the blood from his stained teeth and smirks. "Have you considered fucking off already?"
A sharp push sends the chair keeling over after all, and with his wrists tied behind his back, Phil has nothing to catch himself as his shoulder and temple hit the concrete floor in quick succession. The impact leaves his head vaguely pounding, but not much more. He has too many bruises already to feel any specific ones.
"Don't move," the man says harshly, pulling a flip phone out of his jacket's front pocket. Phil hears the conversation the man is having with his contractor fade away as he walks down the hall.
Swallowing down some of the clotted mucus that floods his mouth, Phil tries to wiggle so he can roll over, but the heavy weight of the chair attached to him makes that pretty impossible. "Techno?" he calls.
He doesn't get a response.
"Fuck." Phil rests his cheek against the floor again, breathing heavily for a moment in an effort to calm his heart down. There are probably a dozen or so reasons why Techno isn't answering him. Maybe he's unconscious. Maybe he can't hear Phil. Maybe they replaced the simple cloth gag with duct tape or something else that is better at keeping him quiet. All possible explanations.
The silence doesn't have to mean that Techno is dead.
Phil knows it's a futile worry to be thinking about. He's focusing on the wrong thing, because if he doesn't figure out a way to escape, then both their bodies are going to end up on the morning news after they're found in a ditch somewhere. But he can't stop. He can't-
"I'm afraid we'll have to put our little chat on the back burner for a while." Flipping the phone closed again, the tall man walks back into the room, followed by two others. They were also there during the kidnapping. "New orders just came in."
A pair of hands hoist under each of Phil's armpits and put him upright, chair and all. The sudden change of position is enough to make his head swim.
"Last chance to change your mind, crow." The man taps his chin condescendingly, and Phil has to use every inch of willpower that remains not to bite their grubby fingers off. "Neither of us likes wasting time on this."
"No, but it would be a bit fucking anticlimactic, wouldn't it?" Phil asks.
The man huffs a deep sigh that seems equal parts disappointed and amused. He turns around and waves dismissively at the other two. "Put him back in his cell. We'll deal with him later."
A knife is used to messily cut through the rope binding Phil's wrists, careless enough that the blade knicks his skin. They pull him up and backwards, through the open door of the holding cell, and then drop him onto a dirty mattress. Phil would really love to say he keeps his balance, but the reality is he lands on his ass when his knees fail to lock properly, only good for sending another bolt of pain through his legs.
He stays there for a solid minute. Phil doesn't see the point in trying to get up when the door is locked and he's not going to escape anyway. Only when he's certain they're gone does he stand, shakily holding his balance against the wall.
"Techno?" he calls again, louder. He walks over to the closed door. There is a little grate set into the wall that connects this room with the one next to it, the other holding cell. Phil kneels, using the rough bricks to keep from slumping over. "Techno? Can you hear me?"
The ten seconds that pass before he finally hears anything take forever. Then, a low groan answers him.
Unconscious. Not dead. Thank fuck.
Phil fiddles with the screws, but the grate is firmly attached and he doesn't know what he's trying to accomplish anyway. The little vent is hardly big enough to force his hand through. Maybe it could be useful for passing things to one another, not much else.
"Ph'l?" Techno asks blearily.
"I'm here," Phil says. He sits back against the wall, giving up on the screws. "Are you hurt?"
"Nah," Techno says. Phil knows it's probably a lie. "You?"
"Nothing too bad."
The statement would have been more convincing if it wasn't followed by a coughing fit. Phil was kicked in the chest earlier, and it took the wind out of him. He's been having difficulty breathing ever since.
"I think they're going to leave us in here to rot for a while," Phil says. "In the hopes it will loosen our tongues."
Techno laughs, short and cut off. "That would explain the poor hospitality."
"Yeah?"
"I've been in garbage processing plants that have a more homely feel to them than this place," Techno says. "Ours, for example."
Despite how much it hurts, Phil chuckles. "Since when do we own a garbage processing plant?"
"Bruh, that building you bought down by the harbor? For money laundering?" Techno clicks his tongue. "Do you just give Missa free rein to do whatever with your cash?"
"He's good at seeing opportunities," Phil defends. Techno hums in agreement.
For somebody who runs a criminal empire, Phil is sometimes woefully unattached to the nitty gritty details of what his organization gets up to. He puts people he trusts implicitly in charge, but he's more of a 'bigger picture' guy himself. Missa acquires valuable assets for him, managing operations from the shadows. Techno is his right-hand man in daily affairs, an advisor and a bodyguard rolled into one.
That doesn't change that Phil is the one who has to take responsibility. And he's the one who has to take the fall.
"How long do you think it'll take for them to come back?" Techno asks. Phil knows what he's actually asking. Techno is wondering if their own men will arrive to free them before the torture picks up.
"We should look for a chance to escape," Phil says, an answer in itself.
The people who took them are professionals, contracted to do the kidnapping by presumably a rival gang. Them being able to catch Phil and Techno alone and by surprise already speaks to their expertise. And it all happened so fast, too fast for either of them to react. They're in some underground warehouse, god only knows where in the city. The kidnappers knew where their trackers were, since they disposed of those along with the two cellphones Phil always carries, and all of Techno's hidden weapons. Phil doesn't like to acknowledge it, but there's a non-zero chance somebody inside the organization is working along with these guys. Their intel is too good to make sense otherwise.
A soft buzzing sound cuts off suddenly. Phil realizes it's the generator when a moment later, all the lights abruptly turn off, leaving them in pitch black darkness.
"Oh, that's just fucking great," Phil mumbles, pitching his head back against the wall.
Techno laughs again, voice dim through the grate. "Time for sleep, I guess."
Phil nods, despite his friend not being able to see. "Yeah. We'll figure something out tomorrow."
Days pass.
The routine they've fallen into is painful yet familiar. The lights turn on. Phil doesn't hear any footsteps, because the walls are so thick. But he can count almost down to the second between the generator kicking to life and the door to his cell opening. If he's lucky, it's just to bring him food and water. More often, it's so he can be dragged into the other room.
They hurt him in an attempt to pry the answers they seek out of him.
Relentless pressure on his ankle makes the bone creak, makes him think it will snap. That might be a relief at this point. A broken bone doesn't hurt as badly as this. Phil bites his tongue to the point of tasting blood again when a boot grinds down further.
"Stop," the tall man commands. The pressure vanishes. Phil gasps automatically, curling upward. His shoulders hunch with the motion in a vain attempt to protect some part of his body in anticipation of the next blow.
Except nothing happens and he sags back onto the ground with a gasp.
So far, he's been punched, kicked, burned, cut, the entire roster. Phil hasn't said a word. He doesn't know how many days exactly have passed, just that it's definitely been a handful. He hasn't given them more than some curses and a glare.
And isn't that just the most annoying fucking thing in the world to these bastards? Phil can tell from the look on the tall man's face as he stares down at him, the seething not exactly subtle. Phil grins with his teeth on display.
"Already done for the day?" he asks.
Not answering, the man looks over at a tub of water that they have standing nearby. Phil did notice it when he was dragged in, but so far they haven't done a thing with it. He's not exactly looking forward to the experience.
He'll bear it, though. The information he's withholding is what's keeping his people, his family safe. Phil would rather die than give that up.
Maybe the man realizes that too.
He tilts his head, half long hair casting shadows across his face as he hovers over Phil, considering something. Phil can practically see the gears in the guy's empty brain turning.
Then the man smiles back at him.
"Bring in the other one," he orders curtly.
Somebody goes to open the second holding cell while Phil is pulled up and put into the chair again, zip ties fastened around his wrists. He hasn't actually seen Techno since they were brought down here. They've talked through the wall, and that's pretty much all that kept Phil from fully losing his shit because he doesn't know how he would have coped if he thought they'd killed him, but his heart still skips a beat at finally seeing Techno again.
He doesn't look too bad - or not worse than Phil does, anyway. Bruised up, hair a mess, pissed off. Yeah, that makes two of them.
"Knees," the tall man commands. There are five of them in total today, but it's very obvious who is in charge. The other four are only there to be the dumb muscle and mandhandle them. Two for Phil, two for Techno. It almost feels like a compliment. The two men holding Techno by his arms force him to his knees in the middle of the room.
Before even saying anything, the tall man backhands Techno's cheek. The slap rings out loudly in the silence of the room.
Techno exhales, pushing down on his anger probably. He doesn't struggle against the hands keeping him down. "You know," he says through a clenched jaw, "torture is proven to be a very unreliable way to extract information."
The tall man doesn't say anything but gestures for the water tub to be dragged over.
Phil's blood runs cold in his veins. "He doesn't know anything," he hears himself yell, twitching forward only to be held back by fingers digging into his shoulders. "Fucking- He doesn't know!"
The safety measure is deceptively simple. Everybody in the organization knows exactly as much as they need to know to do their job properly. And Phil is the only one who actually knows everything. Information is power. Phil is the one who has to take the fall.
But the tall man smirks. "I'm well aware of that, crow."
And then his fingers are tangled in Techno's long hair, pushing him down.
Phil hears Techno take an anticipatory breath, and then there's nothing except the sound of water and the tensing of Techno's spine as one of the other men puts his hand on the back of Techno's neck to help keep him submerged. Techno's knees shift, as if he wants to straighten but can't, and Phil can see some water slosh over the edge of the tub.
"Speak," the tall man demands simply, looking at Phil.
Phil, whose mouth is hanging partway open as if he's the one gasping for breath, choking, drowning, and he watches Techno's chest spasm with a desperate attempt to draw in oxygen that only causes more gurgling to fill the room before his tongue can catch up to his mouth.
"I-" Phil falters.
Techno is pulled up again, panting in short little gags and coughs. Hands are still keeping him down because he is starting to struggle now, instinctively pulling against the restraining hold.
"Speak," the tall man repeats. "I want the addresses of at least three locations."
"Don't," Techno says loudly. The man pushes him back under with a growl.
He didn't get to inhale this time, so the horrible noises pick up right away, the splashing of water, and Techno twisting helplessly as his body rebels at drowning. The tall man continues to stare at Phil, waiting for him to talk.
Except all Phil can do is stare back, unable to tear his eyes away from Techno's suffering. Knowing he's the only one with the ability to put an end to it. Knowing that he can't.
Not without endangering everybody else he cares about.
So Phil does the only thing that will stop him from feeling so horribly powerless at the situation.
"You fucking assholes!" He jerks forward, pulling the chair a few inches across the ground with a violent screech before he's stopped. "I'm going to kill you! I'm going to fucking kill every single one of you!"
"Shut him up," the tall man says. Phil fails to twist away from the duct tape forced over his mouth. "Nod when you're ready to give me what I want, crow." He lifts Techno's head out of the tub again, angling it back so water can drip down his throat.
A throat that is convulsing with rapid breaths, choking on nothing. Techno's hair is plastered to his face, his eyes wide, nostrils flared. He blinks rapidly, but then is pushed down again.
Phil screams at them from behind the makeshift gag.
"Do you know how fast brain damage sets in when a person can't get any oxygen?" the tall man asks almost casually. They shove down harder, forcing Techno's upper body against the rim of the tub. Phil's muffled yelling goes ignored.
The long minute or two that passes feels like hours to him, but then the man does relent and lifts Techno's head again, shoving him to the floor. Techno collapses, retching up watery fluid.
"He's not… going to tell you… anything…" Techno manages to say, every word forced with the ease of barbed wire going down his throat.
The tall man looks back at him, then at Phil once more. And that smile hasn't left. "I don't know about that, I think we've made some progress today."
Days pass.
The new routine is worse than what happened before. Phil would take a thousand cuts, hits, bruises, burns - would take every second of pain inflicted on Techno if he could. But he can't. And he can't make it stop. And it's terrible.
They still hurt him sometimes, but it's almost something he starts to look forward to. Because if they're hurting him, they're not hurting Techno.
"They're not very creative, are they?" Techno asks. Phil doesn't know if their kidnappers are aware of the grate they're using to communicate. Maybe they don't, or maybe they do and it's another form of torture, the fact that Phil can be so close to Techno but can't do anything to help him. But he doesn't care so long as he can hear Techno's voice.
"They're not." He drops his spoon into the bowl of porridge he's eating. The only type of food Phil has gotten during their entire stay. "First thing I'm doing once we're out of here is get a decent meal. This porridge is gross, isn't it?"
There is a pause of about a second before Techno answers. "Uh, yeah."
Phil frowns. "They have been feeding you it too, right?"
"It's fine," Techno says.
Phil pushes the bowl away, too nauseous to keep eating. "Fuck. Seriously? Techno, that's-"
"It's fine," Techno says again.
Phil wants to argue that it's not - it's really not fucking fine. But he bites his tongue instead, since his unbridled rage at these people cannot fall on Techno's shoulders.
Techno is expendable to them. That's what it boils down to.
Techno is expendable and Phil is not. They won't outright kill Techno, because they know damn well Phil will take every last bit of information they want to squeeze out of him to the grave if they do that. But Phil is more valuable to them alive. Even after he has answered their questions, Phil has influence over his gang members. He has territory and connections and loyalty and Techno has nothing except Phil's trust and that's an easy fucking thing to exploit, isn't it? If Phil tells them what they want to hear, Techno might die because he has outlived his usefulness. And if Phil stays quiet, Techno might be as good as dead anyway.
"We need to get out of here," Phil says. He's so sick of these four walls.
"Yeah…" Every time Techno speaks, low and tilting, he sounds strained. "Do you think they're still looking for us?"
"Of course they fucking are," Phil says, surprised Techno would even think otherwise. Though part of him can't fault that fear from sneaking in. It's been over a week by now, surely. Maybe longer. Phil would love to believe the others have been frantically searching for them all this time, but realistically, there's the chance they can't find them, or need to invest their energy elsewhere.
"That's good," Techno says faintly. He sounds on the brink of passing out.
"And if they don't come for us, we'll find a way to break out ourselves," Phil adds.
Techno laughs, too weak to be convincing this time. "Let me know when you think of something."
Phil tries to do just that throughout the entire night, but by the time the generator flicks on, he's still no closer to knowing what they can do.
Days pass.
If Phil was trying to be optimistic, he'd mention that the slaps hurt less now that he has some peach fuzz growing on his cheeks and chin.
He keeps thinking about Kristin, and how much she teases him whenever he tries to grow out a beard. She doesn't tell him not to do it, but he can kind of see from the wrinkle of her nose when she kisses him that she has some sort of thought about it.
God, Phil misses her. He misses her so much, he can't even tell if that pinching feeling in his chest is heartache or a fractured rib.
He shifts on his seat, but one of the men cups his face and raises it, smearing the sticky blood across his skin with rough fingers. They make him watch as they drag Techno back into the room.
"I'd say I'm sick of you playing around," the tall man gloats, circling the back of Phil's chair, hand brushing along his shoulder with a warm touch. "But this honestly is quite enjoyable for me. This next part, especially." He's holding a metal bat in his free hand.
They didn't bother to gag Phil today, maybe just because his throat is sore from screaming at them. So he mostly stays quiet now.
When they release Techno, he slumps to the ground a few feet in front of where Phil is tied up. His eyes are half-lidded, though Phil sees his pupils roll upward, trying to focus on the tall man stalking closer.
"Hand or knee?" the man asks Phil.
The nonchalance of the request is a more effective slap to the face for Phil than any of the actual punches have been. He shakes his head. "What?"
"Which one do I break?" the man presses. "His hand or his knee." He swings the bat up and down twice. Techno turns onto his stomach, slow and in a way that betrays every inch of his body is hurting.
"I'm going to break your spine," Phil hisses, rage simmering beneath the surface.
The man laughs loudly. "Is that a suggestion?" And Phil bites his tongue, hard.
Techno has managed to get on hands and knees by this point, but the man just kicks him and Techno rolls over onto his side again with a strangled grunt.
"I'm serious, if you can't give me what I want, at least answer a question this once."
He brings the bat up again, then arches it down, only stopping it short an inch of touching Techno's arm. Techno doesn't have much of a reaction, blinking lethargically. But Phil flinches in the chair. "Don't!"
The man ignores his little outburst, smirking widely. He whistles from between his teeth. "It's a simple request, crow."
"Don't touch him!" Phil demands urgently. His voice doesn't tremble, but it still sounds pathetic to his own ears. He has no leverage here. "He's not- He doesn't know anything. It's me you want!"
Losing his patience, the man scoffs. He kicks Techno again, rolling him onto his back proper. "Hand or knee, crow. If you don't pick, I'm bashing his skull in."
Phil can't answer.
He doesn't want to, either. Both sound fucking terrible, and he doesn't know if his choice will even make a difference in the long run. Without proper use of his dominant hand, Techno won't be able to play the violin anymore. He'll need to relearn how to write, how to aim, how to do a million little things. If he can even get the medical attention needed to prevent him from losing his fingers. But breaking a kneecap can cost Techno his leg. Phil doesn't-
"Skull it is," the tall man says lowly, planting his shoe on Techno's throat to keep him pinned. Somehow, Techno manages the strength to pry at his ankle, even if it doesn't amount to anything.
"Knee!" Phil yells. "His knee!"
He doesn't know if the choice was made consciously, he feels like he was grappling in the dark and blurted out whatever made it onto his tongue quickest. What if he made a mistake?
The man doesn't give Phil much time to second-guess though, because he raises the bat and brings it down in one fluid motion, and then a crack so nauseating it turns Phil's stomach echoes across the room. A blink of silence passes, as if they're all holding their breaths, unsure how to react.
Then Techno screams.
And Phil can't close his eyes, visions of red and blood sticking behind his eyelids. He's drawn to staring at the mangled mess that used to be Techno's knee, a smear of gore against the floor. He feels like he's going to puke.
A second crack goes unnoticed by Phil at first because he assumes it is the same noise replaying in his mind. He doesn't know it's actually happening until the door bursts open and the gunshots start ricocheting.
And then all Phil can do is start to struggle against the binds that keep his hands behind his back. "Cut me free! Now!"
One of his men rushes towards him to help. Phil doesn't look at them.
He's looking at Techno. Only Techno.
The sickening scent of iron that fills the room makes Phil wish he could have stalled a few seconds more.
Days pass.
Techno spends them in a haze, blurred colors and sensations.
He wakes up a few times, always to the feeling of hands on him. Turning him over against the mattress to chase away the dull aches he gets from lying still, adjusting the blankets so they cover him perfectly and keep away the cold, checking on his bandages and transfusion. Techno doesn't like needles, but right now he's duly grateful for the tube because even his cloudy mind is well aware the painkillers are the only thing standing between him and excruciating agony.
And whenever he does open his eyes, Phil is sitting right next to him.
Techno wishes he could speak to Phil. That's the downside of the anesthetics, they keep his thoughts too dull to capture and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It's taking all of Techno's energy to blink and keep his own drool from choking him by not being able to swallow it down.
So Techno just watches Phil, and almost manages to smile when Phil brushes the hair from his face and holds cups with water to his mouth so he can sip through a straw. Phil, who doesn't leave Techno's bedside at all, despite the fact that Techno is no idiot and knows that obliterating a rival gang takes quite a bit of work. There is so much that needs to be done to get even for what happened and prevent it from ever happening again.
But here Phil is sitting around wasting time next to Techno's bedside.
Techno recognizes guilt when he sees it. Misplaced guilt, especially.
Pity he can't make the words arrange into a nice little sentence, nor get his vocal cords to cooperate in saying them out loud. He can only lie there and watch Phil.
He hopes it's enough. Until he can properly tell Phil, it'll have to be enough.
"You're so stubborn," Phil says, fondly. He tucks Techno's hair behind his ear with a gentle touch. "Instead of glaring at me, you should rest more."
Techno attempts - and fails - to roll his eyes. Phil laughs.
It's the easiest sound to fall back asleep to.
And it's better than talking about it.
Days pass.
In the end, Techno could not bring himself to say those words. By the time he was lucid enough to do so, Phil had swallowed down all those emotions. Phil is often like that. And Techno has known him long enough that maybe he has grown complacent with it.
"How are you feeling today?" Phil asks, standing at the end of the bed. He doesn't approach right away, he never does. First, he needs to observe all of Techno. Squinty and trying to pinpoint the slightest changes. Very annoying.
"Fine," Techno says, disregarding Phil's disbelieving frown.
He really does feel fine. Phil got him the best medical care that money can buy off the record, probably better than most public hospitals and some private ones too. Techno hasn't been in any undue pain, won't suffer any long-term effects from the starvation, and all his sutures are healing up nicely.
The only thing left is his knee.
"Fine, are you?" Phil asks after a moment, walking around to Techno's nightstand. "Because I heard you chased away another physical therapist."
"Bruh, she was making me do sit-ups," Techno complains.
"Abdomen muscle exercises," Phil corrects. "It's to strengthen your posture, take weight off your leg."
"They're sit-ups."
"I don't really care what you call them. You should be doing them if she says they're important." Phil pulls up the chair and sits down.
Not wanting to engage in an unwinnable argument, Techno decides to change the topic. "Any news?"
"Nothing you should be worrying about," Phil says. Then continues when he sees Techno open his mouth, "Seriously, most of it's already handled. I can save you a few of the big fry we capture if you need some stress relief from all those sit-ups you definitely should be doing."
So much for changing the topic.
"Payback? That's more your style," Techno says.
"Trust me, I'm on it."
Yeah, Techno has no doubt every single person involved in that kidnapping operation is wishing they'd done anything else with their life aside from laying a hand on Phil and the people he cares about.
Phil reaches out to squeeze his wrist. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"Yup," Techno drawls, settling back against the pillow. "Are you?"
Blinking, Phil smiles sheepishly. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because I'm not the only one who got tortured."
Phil shrugs as he draws away. "I've recovered. Let's focus on you, yeah?"
"Let's not," Techno deadpans. He'd rather not be the center of attention, medical or otherwise.
With a chuckle, Phil crosses his arms. "It wouldn't kill you for once, mate." But there's a small amount of terseness to his smile, wrinkles around his eyes that deepen when Phil squishes up his face and studies Techno closer for a moment, making certain it's all as it should be.
The reassurance Phil hopes will make things a bit better, because he clearly thinks this is his fault. Techno does his best to smile back at his friend still.
They don't talk about it.
Days pass.
Things are more or less back to normal. Techno is relieved; he wouldn't have been able to bear much longer in that infirmary room.
"Is this going to be your proper one?" Phil asks, eyeing the cane Techno had custom-made for himself. The wood is painted a matte burgundy color and the handle is wrought out of real gold. Techno is going to need to carry it around everywhere he goes, so he wanted it to be nice.
"That's the plan."
As they walk, Phil automatically slows his pace. And Techno marches past him, limp barely slowing him down. He doesn't want Phil to go easy on him all of a sudden.
"I asked if they could put a sword in the cane," Techno mentions. "But then it'd break too easily. I might need to get a backup sword cane."
Phil snorts a laugh. "Sounds ambitious."
"How else am I going to 1v1 the next nerd who tries to attack us?"
And that does make Phil falter, until he's a few slow steps behind Techno. "Yeah… Look, Techno, I'm sorry-"
"About making me do those sit-ups?" Techno interrupts him. "Nah, don't be. Don't be, Phil. They were good after all. I know that now."
Phil seems like he wants to say more, but then he just shakes his head. "I told you so."
"Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should try them, old man. Or soon you'll be walking around with a cane too."
A genuine laugh from Phil follows, and Techno grins as the other man catches up to him again.
They don't talk about it. Maybe they don't need to.