Chapter Text
The strike was so hard it made his teeth rattle. For a brief moment, he saw stars; spinning above his head like his own personal constellations, guiding him home. They faded as the copper tang of blood filled his mouth, the taste of his own blood turning his stomach. His head was grabbed before he could right it himself- or maybe they'd given him the time, and he'd lost it in the sea of grey fog that threatened to swallow him. Calloused fingers grabbed at his jaw, bruised from a hit he couldn't recall; their grip tight and punishing as his captor yanked his head back, straight and up, so his neck muscles screamed their discomfort as he was forced to look into murky blue eyes.
Murky blue, like a stream clouded with mud and sand...
Much like sand in a stream, the question the man asked him was swept away before he could dwell on it... and he was gifted another hit for his lack of answer, the back of the man's hand striking his cheek.
Must... be wearing rings? Something... cut-
His head swam, the wet warmth on his face cooling as he was grabbed and hit...
The inky darkness that rushed in was almost welcomed, save for the dreams that swirled like in eels in a dark body of water.
Exchanging his perfectly tailored suits for something of a lesser quality- not horrid, but nothing you'd expect Moriarty to wear... the small details of a character that made them come to life.
The Hyunseong group; the newest jewel in the crown of the Empire he'd made. An international crime family based in Korea that he'd been working on bringing into the Empire for years. The start to a perfect partnership... and then the head of the house, found dead in his bed during his visit to London. The money going missing, all those debtors crawling out of the woodwork to reveal that the beautiful apple he'd thought he'd just claimed was rotten and full of holes and worms and nasty, squirming things.
The books- going to look at their books... to figure things out... Who even keeps paper records anymore?
Even in the darkness, things spun and swam and danced…
Until nothing moved at all.
+++
Sebastian Moran- late of Her Majesty's Special Forces, and now reduced to working for various unsavoury off-the-books groups- was busy cheating at cards. He didn't need to, usually, but the act of cheating was a bit of a thrill, and getting away with it more so... and also if anyone did suspect they usually started a fight- win/win!
He was currently employed, if one could call it that, by... a gang(?), he supposed, but right now all their attention was on their missing money. Some... Korean? Japanese?
The Asian-not-Chinese group owed them money, and they were doing something to get it back, and it meant they had been busy and ignoring him.
Maybe I need to go pay to see that Dominatrix again? He didn't like to do that, it was usually expensive and... frankly? most of the professionals didn't actually hurt him enough. The only other thing that took the edge off was hurting someone else, hence the cheating at cards and a potential fight... or enough money to pay someone.
And then Lady Luck smiled on him because he'd just taken these guys for their money, when one of the gang came in and said they needed him... and he was busy being miffed that they cut off his brawl, when he found out they needed him to hurt someone! Lovely!
--
Moran followed like an eager, obedient dog- frankly, Doug was more than a bit unsettled by the man. There was a light in his eyes, a sharpness to his smile that reminded him of the predators he'd seen in documentaries... and not ones about animals, either.
The man was a killer.
Oh, he'd killed plenty too- it came up in this line of work, along with the occasional need to hurt someone.
But Moran... was different. It wasn't a job, or a chore- it was a desire. He could see it in the way the man's body seemed to hum with energy as they made their way to the cell the accountant was left in. Excitement buzzing under the skin, the desire to hit and bleed and lash.
The only thing probably worse than dealing with Moran before a case like this was dealing with him after. Once he'd been sated, looking happier and more content than any damn man should ever be.
There was a reason they kept him around. Muscle, sure, but also... if there was one thing Moran was good at? It would be getting someone to talk.
Or scream.
"There's rules with one, right?" Doug stopped the man before they got into the cell. The building was an old factory, abandoned and repurposed over the years- and while none of the machinery that remained worked, the large industrial freezers still held a purpose: they were soundproof.
"You can't kill him. Not yet. Maybe when we don't need him anymore you can keep him, but.. this fucker is the accountant. He knows where the money we're owed is. We need him to talk." He paused, "RJ and I worked him over but he's... not making much sense- left him to cool off for a bit to see if that'll help, but I dunno if they dosed him too hard? Ketamine shoulda worn off by now."
--
"Ketamine?" Sebastian snorted, "You gave him ketamine and then hit him? Waste of your time, mate. Ketamine and a nice friendly chat? Sure... but it's a dissociative drug, Doug: he likely never felt it, and even if he did he probably couldn't understand you."
Sebastian shook his head, amateurs. He walked in and had a look. Black hair and black eyes- well, the black eyes were from a beating, who knew what colour they were. He didn't carry himself like he was broken... more like he was pissed?
He poured some water from the jug in the corner on a rag and wiped off his hands. His one hand was black, mostly- with some odd stripes across his fingers and back of his hand, and solid black across the palm: his soulmate mark. He would first touch his soulmate with that hand, not uncommon, but... he'd always wondered: it didn't follow the pattern of a handshake, or a slap, or a punch. Anyway, it hid the ink he used to mark cards well enough.
"So, anyway... Mister Accountant... my friends want to know where the money is, except they are too fucking stupid and dosed you up until you couldn't make sense." He shrugged, "Your lucky day- or unlucky one- you get me now."
--
He'd woken up in the dark, still. For a long time, invisible shapes seemed to swim in front of his eyes, leaving him to wonder if he'd been blinded.
Possibly. Whatever they gave me was... potent-
And then the light came, bright and blinding as a metal door was pulled open, the noise of it grating and piercing straight into the soft flesh of his brain.
Words- more words, and threats...
And...
Something tickled his mind about what the man said, but he couldn't piece it together- not yet, not with his head feeling like a bowl of overcooked spaghetti...
His eyes ached, and he forced them open again. The brute was staring at him, looking bored, a little annoyed... Blue eyes...
The man from before?
No- not this one. His eyes weren't the murky blue of a polluted stream but instead the deep, clear colour of tropical waters, holding an intelligence that the others hadn't.
"S'not nice," he slurred, tilting his head and smiling with blood-stained teeth, "-to drug someone withou' their permission."
--
God, is he even going to feel anything? was the first thought Sebastian had, followed shortly by, either this guy isn't cowed in the slightest, or he's still high as a kite.
"No, it's not: also really stupid to use a drug like that and then try to use beatings..." Not for the first time he wondered if he should find someone else to work for. "Honestly," he confided to the man- he wasn't likely to be able to tell anyone, so might as well talk to him, "-if it weren't for the fact that they pay well and don't bother me about my personal life? I would have quit by now."
He was studying the man, trying to decide between a straightforward beating- no, they already did too much damage and he'd have to do even more- or some of the more refined torture...
Threats, a taste of what he could get, talk, and then fun, he decided. He pulled on the gloves and walked over next to the man. "So, my employers want to know where the money is, Mister Accountant. I'm not the crude amateur those fellows were though..."
He sterilised a thin long needle and made a few... 'pointed' arguments in favour of telling him what he wanted to know.
+++
Oh yes, the drugs- or whatever he'd been given- had worn off, that much was easy to feel...
His mind, though, was still haze- swampy and thick, like a fog threatened to roll over everything and hide it in the mist.
A thin needle slid into his skin and pressed into a nerve- or three- and Jim grit his teeth, his breath coming out in panting hisses as the brute jabbed into him until--
Dexterous hands, it seemed, because the brute found a spot that had his toes curling and muscles spasming, clenching tight in pain and his very lungs seemed to freeze. Spots danced in front of his eyes and it was only when they stopped being spots and started to become a dark cloud that the needle was withdrawn, leaving him gasping for air.
The pain cleared his head a little; not a lot, but enough that he was able to realise that the man had talked to him about his job, idle chatter... The needle was set aside on the small table, to his relief. Maybe whatever reaction he had to the drug hadn't worn off even if the drug itself had because instead of saying anything useful or even trying to get information about where he was, he instead said: "M'sure... Tesco's hiring, if you hate your job."
Somehow that was hilarious to him- suggesting that the brute instead get a job shelving cans or bagging groceries- and the laughter bubbled up and out of his throat, "I think- ha!- you'd get better pay, at least."
Sebastian had watched as the man reacted to the pain- muscles freezing, gasping, all the usual- but mentally he wasn't… how much did they drug this guy?
"Yeah, well, Tesco frowns on actually torturing customers," he answered a bit by reflex and then he peeled off his gloves. "You are still way too drugged up: look, they want their money, Mister Accountant, money? You know? And I'll be back after I rip into the idiots for drugging you this badly to ask you again."
He walked out and closed the door- leaving the guy in the dark to think about pain for a bit; usually softens them up - and went to have a 'chat' with the previous guys.
...fuckers were hiding: they knew they fucked up but they were too cowardly to stand up about it.
+++
“So…” Doug cleared his throat, speaking up from the back of the ‘pack’- if you could call the three of them a pack. “Did you get anything?”
Moran looked like someone pissed in his wheaties- a scowl marring his face that normally wasn’t there after he got some ‘alone time’ with someone.
They’d hoped to get out of the place before he came out, but… no such luck- as it was, they were getting cornered in the breakroom.
--
"You fucking stupid incompetent-" he went on, getting more blisteringly heated as he went until he stood there, fists clenched at his sides, breathing hard. "You drugged him with an ANAESTHETIC and dissociative! Not only did he probably not feel half of what you did to him, he's only just stopped hallucinating! How the HELL do you expect to get answers if he can’t even understand the questions!"
He glared at the man he thought most likely to have hit him in the face, "And you! I bet you hit him in the eyes, didn’t you... you probably gave him a fucking concussion on top of the ketamine! PLUS what if we need him presentable to video call or go in person to get the money!"
He snarled, "I want doses, and written details of what you each did and when- or at least in what order- or I will fucking practice on you until I'm ready to go back in!"
“He was dosed hours ago-” Frank tried to get some of the heat off his back, “He should have been fine long before this! We’re not new to this, Moran- the ketamine was to get him down and out without too much of a fight. Anything happening now? That’s a damn adverse reaction, and not something anyone could have predicted.”
“Frank,” RJ warned, “Let’s cool it, yeah? Look-” he held up his hand placatingly, “K’s our go to for nabbing people. We sell it, so why use anything else? We didn’t realise he’d stay this fucked up… or we wouldn’t have used it. But we can get you that list… and you can let him simmer until you’re ready to go in again. Let him sit in the dark. Guy like that? I doubt he’s so much as been hit before- he can sit and dwell on all the nasty things he thinks you’re gonna do to him…”
Sebastian snarled at them, "And leaving marks on his face?" and stormed out. Fuckers! Fine even if it was an adverse reaction... they could TELL he wasn’t out of it when they worked him over...
"Amateurs!" He went outside for a smoke figuring he'd go in and get started on that accountant again after that... just my luck if he doesn't come out of it enough to make any sense.
+++
The dark was alright, for a bit. He’d… never liked the dark, never liked the things that haunted him when he was lost in it for too long, but now…?
The lights had been bright, burning his eyes, and when they suddenly were extinguished he visibly relaxed, sagging against the chain he was roughed restrained to. The darkness was a cool balm, washing over him and hiding the instruments left on the table with him. The table that was out of reach- he considered it, briefly, in the dark… but all those sharp things; knives, needles, scalpels…
The thought of fumbling for them in the dark even if he could get to them made his stomach turn.
His breath slowed, his heart becoming less frantic…
…
…
The problem with the dark- true darkness- was that your mind didn’t like being in the dark. Your eyes didn’t like not seeing… and soon, it began to create things, just for the chance to see.
Or hear.
It started with the tapping- light enough that he couldn’t really hear it unless he focused on it, that same slow rhythm… fingers on a wooden door in the dark, just out of sight.
He tried to ignore it- there’s no doors in here. No wood, either. It’s all metal. You were drugged, you’re hallucinating. You’re alone.
“All alone…”
The voice was a whisper, air brushing over his neck, a threat and a promise all in one.
“Want some company, Jimmy?”
He was only aware he had been screaming when he ran out of air and stopped.
+++
Sebastian threw the pages into the trash... and then got them back out and pinned them to the table with one of the idiot's knives (fucker couldn't even take proper care of a knife). He wanted to hunt them down and do all of it to them! How the hell was he supposed to question someone in this condition?
The cowards couldn't have left... hmm, yeah, they could have if they went out the other side of the building... Sebastian just spun on his heel and went back to interrogate the guy... He was clearly going to have to be careful- hell, first he had to find out if he had any brain cells left after the drugs... maybe he had been on something that interacted?
Sebastian got a couple bottles of water and a bottle of electrolytes- if nothing, else flushing his system would help.
He yanked the door open and was rewarded with a cut-off shriek and a whimper. Always nice. The guy had tear tracks and was shaking- blood showed he'd bitten his lip.
"Now that's nice... I always appreciate a good response." Sebastian kept his voice quiet as he paced around him a bit: yeah, much worse off, but also more alert- good.
"I brought you in some water to drink, before I get back to asking questions..." He put his hands on the chair back and leaned in and purred, "I really love asking people pointed questions."
The accountant was licking his lips and trying to say something, but as dried out as he was? Sebastian opened the bottle and held it for him in his off-hand, grabbing that mop of hair and holding his head in place by it. "Drink up, and maybe if you answer me I won't hurt you... as badly."
He'd been leaning forward, right next to the guy, making sure he swallowed some water... so it wasn't until he straightened up that he saw some colour out of the corner of his eye...
He blinked stupidly as he looked at his brightly coloured hand buried in the man's technicolour hair…
No.
He stared some more, frozen. The black hair? was now an amazing rainbow of colours... He slowly let go and pulled his hand away, backing up away from him... the odd black streaks on his soulmate mark suddenly explained by strands of hair…
Sebastian had no idea how to react, what to think- what to do... he stumbled out of the room and ran outside to take gasping breaths of air... A drink... a drink and a smoke... and maybe it will all go away?
He staggered off to find a drink.
+++
He'd tried- god help him, he'd tried. His mouth was dry though, his throat raw from screaming... When he tried to speak, to answer and tell the man that he'd talk, whatever he wanted? All that came out was a dry, pathetic-sounding croak.
The brute seemed to think it was pathetic as well, because he was roughly grabbed, making him yelp... and water- god, he didn't even care if it was drugged because it was wet and moistened his parched lips, his dry tongue and throat.
Jim didn't even really care about the not-so-subtle threats, he was just glad he had light and water--
And then the man went to leave.
"No," he croaked out, "No- please, no, I- not the dark," he was babbling, then, begging like the pathetic, disgusting creature he was, the self-loathing and hate overrode by the desire to survive, to avoid pain, "Please, they'll- they'll come for me, please-"
His captor didn't look back, not even as the door shut again, taking all light with it.