(A/n)
There's going to be some themes of violence and torture in this chapter, you've been warned.

You wished you had a clock, a window, or something that could give you a hint as to how much time had passed since Buckner left.

Eventually, your clothes dried from the water he'd dumped on you and the silence stretched on. The only way you knew anything was going on around you was when you heard footsteps come and go near your interrogation room. It was always quick and the sounds of boots scuffing the floor was faint but they kept you from getting too impatient. Those few noises let you know Kid hadn't made an appearance and Buckner was still busy with the wild goose chase you'd sent him on. While that meant nothing had changed and your time was slipping away, it was comforting know you still had some time.

That was until you were able to identify the sound of a heavy set of boots heading towards your door. They moved with purpose and while you hoped it was Kid, you had a feeling it wasn't.

The door flung open to reveal a fuming Buckner.

You took your time swollowing your nerves and looking him up and down. First was his face. His hair was slick with sweat and fell in his eyes in clumps. There was a welt forming on his right cheek and a cut along his chin, covered in a layer of dried, flaky blood. When you looked further down, he was missing his suit jacket and the white shirt that remained was covered in tears. He still had his uniform coat but the pristine white had turned into a dirty, muddy brown, like it was tossed in a mud pit.

"Did you have fun?" You broke the silence, deciding that despite your fear, you might as well do what you can to get under his skin further. Your time was up and there was no saving you from whatever he had planned. You were ready to accept that.

"You fucking lied."

"Ever had a girl give you a fake number just so you'd leave her alone?"

"What?" He snapped as he stepped in, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Just thinking aloud."

In two long strides, he'd reached your chair and lashed out at out. The back of his hand hit your face hard and fast enough for the chair to tilt backwards for a second before falling back to all fours. Your head spun and your cheek throbbed harshly and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

"I lost five men in an unsuccessful raid because of you!" He roared.

You could focus enough to see his red tinged face a mere inches from your own. His teeth were bared into a snarl that could rival Kid's and you met his furious stare the best you could as you smirked.

"So you're going to blame me for your mistakes now? I wonder why you took my word for it without weighing the possibility of me just trying to get you off my ass."

His mouth settled into a firm line as he backed away slowly. "It sounds like it's time to step things up."

You let out a small gasp as he kicked the chair and it slid back to the wall behind you. It would've fallen over if you hadn't hit the wall first. Your hands smashed into it, still restrained behind the seat, and you grimaced.

Buckner had settled into a disturbing, calm silence as he moved in once again and you were reminded of the time you were assaulted out on the cold streets what seemed like forever ago. It was the only other time you really ever feared for your life.

----

You just wanted to know how much time had passed. There was a part of you that held out hope that Kid would find you and if you just waited long enough, you'd reach the finish line and get to leave this place.

Buckner had come and gone a few times. You'd passed out in those times, either out of pure exhaustion or simply because you couldn't stay conscious after your "sessions."

They started off tame enough. He began with beating you with his fists, pausing once in a while to see if you were willing to talk. Each time, you'd tell him the truth, that you knew nothing, but he still believed you were hiding things and continued each time. Besides his first hit, he avoided your face so you'd be able to actually talk with his every pause.

You weren't sure how long he stuck with that method but it felt like ages. When he tired of that and you were so bruised that simply breathing was painful, he left. That was relieving until he came back later, armed with a knife.

He'd found your scars from the assault and decided to work with those, dragging a chair over to sit directly in front of you as he gleefully opened the old wounds.

You were sure the police wouldn't allow something like this to happen but they weren't here. The marines operated with their own rules and their corruption was more sickening than the different gangs that ran the city streets.

With every cut, you bit harder into your inner cheek to muffle your cries until you drew blood. When that wasn't enough, you quickly stopped caring about trying to be quiet. You did it in hopes of denying him the full enjoyment you were sure he received from torturing you but he was patient and soon proved to be an expert on getting what he wanted in that regard.

Like the first time you received the wounds, he dug his blade in and twisted it around until it hit bone, doing the most damage he could. Surprisingly, you did better about staying lucid this time. After the damage was done there, he switched to a serrated blade and slowly cut open new spots, deep enough to hurt while shallow enough to not risk you bleeding out.

You didn't bother counting how many times the blade bit into your skin and each time he asked about what you knew and you gave him the same answer, you felt yourself dying a bit inside.

Eventually, he tired of the attempt with knives and left once again. A medic came in to clean your wounds not long after but that's all they did. Nothing was stitched or really fixed per se, they only did enough to prevent infection and they were gone without saying a single word to you or making eye contact.

You'd lost enough blood that you did pass out from that not long after. It felt fleeting when you were abruptly woken up by your chair being tossed to the ground, taking you with it. You didn't get the chance to process what was happening before a fabric bag was pulled over your head and water rushed over your face.

Apparently you were wounded enough at this point that Buckner had switched from physical to more mental methods and gave you a first hand experience of waterboarding. That had to be, by far, the worst he'd done to you.

Still, you gave him nothing. He continued to refuse to believe you didn't know any of Kid's details, forcing you to sit through whatever his twisted mind came up with.

His latest trick was to bring an air conditioner into the room. You had grown too suspicious of what he planned for you to be grateful to have something to make the temperature more comfortable and rightly so. He placed it on the table and had you face it, unable to see the door, cranked it up as much as it would go, and left you alone.

At first, it was nice. But the temperature in the small room quickly dropped until you were shaking like a leaf from the cold. Your cuffs rattled against the chair with each tremble and cut into your already raw wrists. Your teeth chattered and your bones ached with how tense your body became. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't sleep through it in hopes of making the time pass faster.

The only thing that kept you from losing it was the hope that Kid would come.

You weren't one to advocate violence but something in you had snapped from this. You reveled in the idea of Kid ripping Buckner apart. The memory of him beating your assaulter wasn't enough, you wanted him to do so much worse this time. It didn't disgust or horrify you like it should have, it grounded you.

After what seemed like hours since Buckner was last with you, the door opened once again. As impossible as it seemed in the moment, you stiffened up even more. You forced your breathing to steady as much as possible and clamped your mouth shut, doing your best to keep your teeth from chattering. Your eyes pinched closed, almost on their own, and you waited.

These footsteps seemed a little lighter than his though, not to mention rushed. They moved into the room quickly and a rush of air hit you as they swept around to face you. Your whole body flinched when a hand delicately touched your knee.

"(Y/n) I need you to look at me."

A soft cry left you involuntarily as your eyes shot open and you saw Killer crouched in front of you. The strange mask you'd seen him wear on the rare occasion covered his face and there were small arches of blood decorating his shirt.

He reached bach and yanked the air conditioner's cord from it's outlet before focusing back on you. It didn't take him long to look you over and take note of your pitiful state.

After a few failed attempts, you were able to find your voice. "Hey jailbait."

Killer didn't reply as he stood and removed his jacket, draping it over your still shuddering frame before moving behind you to work on the cuffs. You could feel him picking at the lock with what you assumed had to have been his lock pick set. He always carried it on him. As soon as there was a click and they released, he pulled them off, allowing you to slowly move your arms in front of you. They'd been stuck in the position so long that every movement hurt.

"We need to leave fast, before the marines send reinforcements here." He finally spoke again as he carefully picked you up.

You had no complaints, about needing to move fast or being carried. His body was feverishly warm compared to yours and you'd never been so thankful to be cuddled up to a friend. And honestly, you didn't think you could walk, even if you tried. On top of the torture, you hadn't had a single thing to eat since you'd been brought here. They'd forced water down your throat on occasion but that was it.

"I guess we could do that." You joked as you let yourself slump against his chest. "I was getting tired of this place anyway."

"You're in no shape for humor." He grunted as he marched out into the hall.

You caught flashes of movement that you were able to identify as members of Kid's crew cutting down a plethora of marines. Bodies dotted the halls and blood decorated the spaces in between. The sight managed to relax you.

"I don't want to cry so I'm going to joke instead. Is that a problem?" You murmured.

"....No."

He jostled you slightly as he adjusted his grip. Any time someone got in your way, a gang member would clear the path for Killer. Eventually, you caught sight of Heat and Wire. Both of them wore more blood than Killer and seemed completely unbothered by it. If anything, they seemed to be basking in the rush of a fight.

They glanced your way on occasion before focusing back on the marines in front of them, except now that they knew they had you, they followed close behind Killer, watching his back as he made his way towards what you assumed was the exit.

"Where's Kid?" Your aching hand grasped at the edge of the coat to keep it in place. The shivering was slowing down and exhaustion was begining to set in.

"Occupied."

"With what?"

Silence. You knew what.

"I hope he really fucks him up."

"Do you?" His tone was even, neutral.

"Yes." Your confidence shut him up.

You didn't pay much more attention to your surrounding until you were outside. The cold hit you like a slap to the face and the shivering started all over again. Lucky for you, it didn't last long.

Killer slid into the back seat of his truck and you were surprised to see one of his men at the wheel. You'd seen him before in passing, his mohawk and oddly round sunglasses were hard to miss. A mere moments later, Wire hopped into the passenger side while Heat got in beside you and Killer.

"Kid's been updated." Heat addressed Killer. "He should be clearing out with the rest of the crew soon."

"Call him, he's leaving now." Killer growled.

The rumble of his chest was soothing and you closed your eyes, finally feeling like you were able to truly relax for the first time in a while. The sound of a phone making a call soon sounded distant and voices became indistinguishable from each other. The heater was going hard enough that it melted away the chill in your bones and your aches and pains were dulled.

And then you were shook not so gently. "(Y/n) you need to stay awake for me."

A dissatisfied grumble left you but you lacked the strength to open your eyes.

"(Y/n) I'm not joking, talk to me. Tell me about the last lesson you taught at the school."

You really tried. But your eyelids continued to fight you and you couldn't form words no matter how hard you tried.

"Hey!" Killer shook you again but no amount of jostling was going to keep you from sleeping. You'd apologize to him when you woke up.