[attr="class","dibody3"]A cover compromised and swarmed in an instant. The feeling of the gun jumping back in his hand, of gunshots ringing in his ears. He took the gunners down, then the target he was supposed to be spying on. A mistake, though, he'd miscounted. There weren't enough bodies. He didn't even hear him approach, didn't see any shadows or movements. Just all of a sudden he was thrown against a wall, hands pinned above him, and stabbed how many times? He didn't count. It took him a few seconds to regain himself. He lept forward, into the knife, it was enough to startle his attacker and cause him to stumble back. Emilio's hands then free shoved the barrel of the gun to the man's head and fired. His attackers were dead, but he was still dying.

Gasping breaths and painful steps, stumbles, near falls. Each movement pushed more blood from the hole in his side. He could still feel it, the sensation of cold metal sliding in out of his skin. He pressed harder on the wound, but it didn't help. He could vaguely here Morgan in the back of his mind telling him to go to the hospital. He wouldn't, though. They'd call the police. Too many cops, too many questions, too much attention on him. He was a spy, he had to stay low, unseen, below the eyes of the police. He'd already fucked up once by getting needlessly arrested. He wasn't going to make a stupid mistake like that again. They'd most certainly tie him to the murders if he went to the hospital. Home. His intention was to go home. If he was going to bleed to death, he wanted to do it in his home, not on the side of some street, not in some dirty alleyway. He lived close by, anyway. He just had to make it there.

Ah, he was beginning to feel cold.

He winced as he stepped out from an alleyway and onto a larger street, the yellow streetlights far too bright for his eyes. Dimly in the back of his mind he recognized the building down the street. It was close, not even a block away. He could make it. He could do this. He trudged weakly down the street, blood running from between his fingers. He was leaving a trail, he was vaguely aware of this. It was something the police could follow, but at this point he didn't care. If he got rid of his keychain, the one thing tying him to the revolution, they might not realize its existence just yet. He needed to protect the Operation while he still had strength left. As he walked, he dug into his pockets with his free hand and pulled out his keys. He grabbed the Operation keychain with his teeth and tugged the keys down as hard as he could manage. It took a few times and the effort made him nearly fall, but he broke the keychain from his keys. Now what, though? He could swallow it, that was an option, but if they cut him open they might find it. They might think they were the ones who killed him, might actively look for them. He couldn't risk someone finding it and taking up the symbol. They might be approached as if they were part of the Operation. Morgan, though, Morgan lived in the same building, just a few floors down. Morgan was his best option, although it wasn't exactly a good one.

The lobby's air was warm and Emilio slipped slightly on the tile, blood coating the bottom of his shoes. Ah, he was making a mess. Morgan, though, he had to give it to Morgan. The mailboxes were right next to the elevator, good. He could make it like he was using them to support himself while he waited for the elevator. He slid his hand across the cold metal and shoved the keychain into Morgan's box. Good, good, he'd protected the Operation as much as possible. Now he just had to get to his apartment. The elevator dinged and opened, revealing itself to be thankfully empty. Emilio stumbled in, nearly fell in, and pushed the button for the third floor. He leaned against the wall and railing in an attempt to keep himself standing. His legs were weak and he was barely applying pressure to his wounds at this point. He was cold. Almost there, though, almost there, he told himself. Just a little farther. He used it as motivation to sloppily stumble out of the elevator.

Ah, he couldn't even get the right key, couldn't unlock the door. Whatever. He didn't care anymore. He'd made it this far. He made it home enough. He turned and let himself fall back against the door and slide to the floor. He hung his head and looked at his blood soaked clothes. He was okay with this, with death. He was a little sad he didn't last longer, though. He wanted to help more. He wanted to see things change.

He heard the door open, felt it leave his back and saw the world move as he fell backwards. Someone was in his apartment, then. Who was it? Morgan? Elliott? Dara? No, not Dara, he couldn't hear a woman's voice. He could see people, faces above him, hear their concerned, panicked, startled voices. He couldn't identify them, though. He was so cold.



Emilio's head felt heavy, his whole body did. He tried to roll over, but pain shot through him, pushing a gasp and groan from his lungs. He remembered, the hazy memories filling his head. Where was he? Dark eyes flitted around the dark room. A few sweeps and he determined it to be his own. Carefully, he felt under his shirt and along his wounds. He'd been stitched up. He lightly fingered the stitches. He could hear quiet voices and the television outside his room. He was safe. He was alive. He was scared, still, scared of how Doctor X would react to this, but for now he was alive and he was grateful for that.

[attr="class","ditags3"]word count ✖ @tag ✖ injured/uncertain

[attr="class","dibody3"]"Try again." Doctor X's voice was even, smooth, and firm. It was a mentor's voice, meant to guide the hands doing the work. Emilio's eyes flicked from Doctor X to the masked man in front of him. He slowly met his gaze. He blinked his tears of pain away and tried to steady his breathing. He looked Morgan in the eyes. He could only see the glint of light off of them, nothing more. Still, he saw he was hesitating. It was in his body language, the way he kept rolling his shoulders and starting to move, but stopping before he really began. It was irritating. With every second Morgan hesitated, Emilio's anxiety mounted. It twisted his guts and clawed at his throat, squeezing it tight.

"Are you worried you're going to break him?" Doctor X's voice cut easily through the tension. Morgan fumbled over his words behind his mask. "Don't be. If he breaks then he isn't suited for this job." He continued, "This is a test, as well as training." Morgan stared at Doctor X for a few seconds before looking again at Emilio. The man just looked so small, so fragile. He had to be more than half a foot smaller than Morgan. Petite was the best way to describe him. Morgan worried that if he broke his bones, they'd shatter like glass and never heal. It was an irrational worry, though and he pushed it down. He stepped forward. Emilio, that was his name, right? His colours changed rapidly. Initially he was purple with yellow undertones. Anxiety, probably. The purple had been gradually taking its place as more of an undertone as greens and yellows became more prominent. Several minutes ago, there formed a deep red, dark and muted but still strong. Apparently Emilio was a masochist. He was grateful to have the mask hiding his face. There was a fine line between pleasure and pain and it was his job to bring Emilio to that line and push him over. He needed to drown him in pain.

"Don't hesitate." Emilio's voice quivered in pain and anxiety, but aside from that held little emotion, "We're both here to learn." He looked Morgan in the eyes as he spoke. They were easier to see now. Light brown and hesitant, still. "I'm not going to break." Emilio assured. The eyes hardened and with a swift movement the air was filled with the sound of bones breaking and Emilio screaming. He couldn't even hold the sound back, couldn't keep from writhing, thrashing in the chair he was tied to. The ropes tying him down bit into his skin. It didn't take long for Morgan to throw him over the edge.

----

His entire body ached. His broken hands throbbed ceaselessly, surging him with pain with every twitch he made the mistake of making. His cut open flesh stung as sand and dirt worked their way into the raw flesh. How long had he been lying here on the floor? He couldn't tell in the darkness. He hadn't seen sunlight in what felt like days. How long could a human survive on just water, again? A month before the body ran out of body fat? Oh, but Emilio didn't exactly have a lot of body fat. He'd been working out for years and while he still had a healthy amount of body fat, Emilio considered it to be below average, especially if the average was based on your typical American. Surely they wouldn't let him die, though, not like this. Perhaps if he gave up, showed mental weakness, a willingness to divulge secrets he'd die. Until then, though, he was useful, right?

Ah, he wanted to scream, to thrash, to see the light, to see the sun.
----

The room was quiet, silence staved off by the sound of breathing and chains rattling. He was strung up by some chains, hanging by his wrists. His ankles were tied, that chain attached to a hook in the ground. Emilio guessed it was to keep him from swinging too far. He'd seen enough movies to guess what was going to happen to him.

"Just bring it down on him." Emilio recognized the voice as Doctor X's, although he couldn't see him, "Don't hesitate. Don't hold back." He didn't hear Morgan say anything.

No amount of mental preparation could prepare Emilio for the pain. Nothing could prepare him for the feeling of the ends of a whip gouging his back. He pulled tight on the chains, screaming before he even realized he was. He couldn't even catch his breath before the next lash came, pulling another cry from his throat. One after another, Morgan was relentless. This was worse than when he'd broken his hands and several of his ribs. Worse than when they'd waterboarded him, although really that one wasn't so bad since Emilio wasn't exactly afraid of death. He more or less made Morgan's job easier by purposefully swallowing large amounts of water.

Eventually, as the lashes continued, he fell quiet. Instead of screams, whispers fell from his lips, too soft for Morgan or Doctor X to hear. ""Musunde hiraite. Te wo utte musunde." He sang softly, "Mata hiraite te wo utte. Sono te wo ue ni." The lashes stopped.

"Um, sir? He's not really responding. Is he okay?" Emilio distantly recognized the voice as Morgan's. He heard a chair move slightly across the concrete ground, followed by footsteps in his direction. Emilio kept singing in a whisper. Doctor X stood in front of him and watched as he finished the song, then moved on to one in Spanish. Doctor X grabbed Emilio's face and turned it to the light. Emilio smiled vaguely.

"Hit me harder." He sneered, voice hoarse and barely audible. Doctor X let go and Emilio's head fell limp. He began to count, alternating between Spanish and Japanese. He was keeping himself rooted in something, in language rather than the pain of lacerated flesh. A coping mechanism to try to keep himself sane, to keep from losing himself in the pain.

"He's fine. Continue." Doctor X ordered. Morgan, after a second, continued. Doctor X remained in front of Emilio, although now a few steps back, and watched his reactions, watched how he dealt with the pain.

----

"Yes, to the third floor. It's apartment 326, thank you." Emilio smiled sweetly to the movers who were assisting him in bringing his things to his new apartment. It wasn't like he could do much himself with his hands still healing and back still in a sorry state, covered in scabs but no where's near done healing. His shoulders ached, too, stretched from the amount of time he'd spent hanging from chains. He was grateful that the lashes were their last bit of training. He was worried that if they continued they'd start cutting off his fingers. His smile dropped, though, when someone walked into the lobby and froze, eyes locked onto him. Emilio offered a smile back, but the man didn't seem too pleased by it. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, a past mistake. Guilt covered his face, but not regret.

"Um, hi, uh are you just moving in?" Emilio's eyes widened with recognition, eyebrows rising and smile growing. It was him, the enforcer who'd practiced on him. He didn't recognize his face as it'd been covered, but his voice, oh he remembered his voice. It was a voice too sweet for hands that rough, for someone whose methods were so sharp.

"Yes, I am." Emilio hummed, stepping up to him, "I'm Emilio. I'm moving into 326. Morgan, right? It's a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to come up when I'm settled." Morgan seemed intimidated by the offer, but nodded in acceptance. "Great! We'll try tomorrow at three, then? I should be mostly settled in by then."

----

It was six in the evening and Morgan was now three hours late. Emilio didn't particularly care, but found himself wondering why Morgan hadn't dropped by like he agreed to. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, anyway, so he took the elevator down to the ground floor and walked down the hall to apartment 126. He could hear someone yelling from inside. Carefully, he knocked on the door. A few minutes passed before the door was opened, a surprised Morgan standing in the doorway. He'd forgotten, that much was clear.

"Oh, Emilio, um, come in." He stepped aside and awkwardly gestured for him to enter. Emilio obliged and eyed the pieces of wood scattered across the living room floor while Morgan closed the door. "I'm sorry, Emilio, I got caught up trying to put this stupid shelf together." Morgan explained, "I assume you wanted to talk, though? I assume you know..." He trailed off.

"I know who you are." Emilio casually replied, dropping his "mask" as he walked into the living room. He picked up the instruction sheet from the floor and looked it over. How incompetent was he to be unable to assemble an IKEA shelving unit? "You were my enforcer." He felt Morgan eyeing his back as he continued, "I wasn't aware there were any others in this building, really."

"You're not mad? You seem pretty calm." There was confusion in Morgan's voice and tension in his body.

"Why would I be mad? Because you hurt me?" There were vague hints of irritation in his voice, "Morgan, I'm a spy. If my cover is ever compromised there is a high chance that I will be tortured until I give the Operation up, which I won't, or I die. What you did has helped me prepare for that." As he spoke he sorted out the pieces of the shelves. "What you've done is help me override my need to live, which admittedly wasn't exactly that strong to begin with. No matter what they do to me, I believe I can take every bit of information about the Operation to my grave, and it's because of you and Doctor X that I can do that." He paused to look at Morgan, who was standing looking startled. "So, I guess, thanks." Emilio looked back at the instructions in his hand, "If you still feel bad, though, you can help me with my back. I have to make sure it doesn't get infected and it's kind of hard to do when I can't see it or reach all of it. Now come over here and I'll help you assemble this shelf."

[attr="class","ditags3"]word count ✖ @tag ✖ try again/canon