[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/DSTaI0P.png[/img][/center]
[h3]Geneva, Switzerland
JANUARY, 23[/h3][hr]
And again, that ringing. That God forsaken [i]ringing[/i] that thrummed throughout his body, rattled his organs, made him feel like a string doll being unraveled one sharp tug at a time. Barely a groan escaped him as his head sunk to the table, his body limp and trembling.

He wanted it to stop.

He wanted it to be over.

He wanted to [i]hurt.[/i]

As the gathered crowd stood and applauded the gory display, 10 lifted an arm, slow and stiff and shaking like he was a hundred years older, and reached for his handler. But instead of striking - 10 couldn't lift a fork, let alone attack even the feeblest of people - the tortured boy grasped the hem of Friedrich's coat, and let his arm fall heavy. The telltale sign of a plea. For 10 to stoop so low as to [i]beg[/i], it was an obvious symbol of submission. Not one that would last, but one that would hold, at least for the moment.