Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Characters: Jack, the Master.
Spoilers: The Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords.
Summary: Things are always worse for Jack when the Master is in a playful mood.
Word Count: 500
Content Notes: Torture and sadism.
Written For: Prompt 34: Agony at anythingdrabble.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Agony flooded through Jack’s entire body and he wished he could die, but he already knew he wouldn’t be granted that oblivion today, or at least not anytime soon. Sometimes, when the Master was angry, or frustrated, or bored, he’d come to the engine room of the Valiant and simply kill Jack, swiftly and relatively cleanly, waiting for him to revive so he could kill him again, and again, over and over until the deaths blended together and Jack barely registered them. That was easy for Jack to handle, his suffering each time was brief and the Master would usually be silent, except for perhaps screams of rage as he cursed whoever had angered him.
This wasn’t one of those occasions though. Today, the Master was cheerful and chatty, and that was very bad for Jack. It meant the insane Time Lord was in the mood to play, and as always, Jack was his favourite plaything.
“Isn’t this fun? We should do this more often!” the Master gloated as he tested the sharpness of another knife and studied Jack’s already ripped and bloodied body, trying to decide what to do to him next. “I do love our little games, and I’m learning so much about you!”
‘Yes,’ Jack wanted to sneer. ‘You’re learning how long it takes me to die from different injuries.’ He couldn’t speak though, could barely manage a gargled scream.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Ah, no, of course not. I have. Oh well, it should grow back in a while and then I can try again. I don’t think I quite got it all last time.”
If he could have spat at the Master, Jack would have; maybe if he got blood on the sadistic bastard’s suit it would earn him a quick death. Or perhaps it wouldn’t, perhaps he would only prolong Jack’s agony as punishment for his ‘crime’.
The Master heated the knife blade over an open flame before plunging it into Jack’s thigh, the hot metal immediately cauterising the wound so he wouldn’t die too fast from blood loss. Jack had been tortured before, for information, but that wasn’t what the Master was after. He delighted in inflicting pain, and he liked to experiment, always coming up with new ‘games’ to play, endlessly testing Jack’s limits. He didn’t want to kill Jack permanently; that would be no fun for him at all. He relished having a victim who would just reset no matter what was done to him, an unbreakable toy for an unstoppable madman.
As yet another red-hot knife sank deep into muscle and bone, this time in his other thigh, Jack bit back his scream, determined to withhold at least that much from his tormentor. It was the only act of defiance he was capable of right now, and meagre though it was it gave him some small satisfaction to see the brief flicker of annoyance in the Master’s eyes.
He just had to hold on a little longer…