The goddamn smell of it nearly made him throw up and ruined any hope he had of passing out.

Perfluorocarbon. A chemical compound that was somehow both a godsend in the medical field and simultaneously an abomination mankind should have never been allowed to touch. Blood substitutes for transfusions. Optical operations. Tattoo removals. Enhanced gas exchange. Lung injury treatments due to aforementioned ability. It had many benefits for modern medicine, some currently in practice and some only in theory until they could be approved for human use,  but its notorious nickname as 'liquid oxygen' is what made chills run up Icarus' spine. Chemical warfare. Amplified torture. Having a substance viscous enough to mimic drowning but oxygenated enough to keep it's victim alive made waterboarding ten times worse than it already was.

Icarus did not fear death. Nor did he mind pain. In his line of work, one quickly became used to it after forcibly building up a tolerance via both occupational hazards and condemnation to such discomfort in training.

But he would rather death than to become the next Kiki Camarena.

Platt, as Icarus decided to call the man before him due to his semblance to the actor Oliver Platt, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The bearded man took his time smoking a few puffs, and then addressed Icarus. "Good, you're still awake. I was not sure where I left my salts."

At some point during Icarus' "interrogation" he'd been moved from the room his captors originally dragged him into, and onto a bathroom farther down a dark corridor. They'd also taken the chair from him but wisely bound his wrists behind his back. He'd been left alone for the past god-knows-how-long, all the while fidgeting with his hands; his new visitor had a bucket down by his feet. Icarus immediately recognized it as the source of the perfluorocarbon stench.

"I am going to make this very simple for you. I [i]will[/i] kill you. My boss knows who you are. My boss also understands your stubbornness and does not wish to waste anymore resources on you so now I am allowed to do as I please. I am taking the liberty of giving you a chance to pick when you die, however. If you give me something useful I will grant you an immediate death. Your friend does not have this privilege so do not attempt to negotiate on her behalf."

Icarus said nothing and for a long moment, Platt stared straight at him while taking another drag from the cigarette in his fingers. "Very well." Icarus had anticipated the bucket being brought closer but his attention was so focused on it that he'd completely missed the cigarette, brushing it off as Platt simply reaching to grab him, until he felt the burn of it smolder into his already-injured cheekbone. Icarus jerked his head back, screaming, and Platt kept pushing until the paper thing was a crumpled up completely. Icarus didn't have a chance to recover before his head was abruptly shoved into the bucket. He knew struggling was pointless but he couldn't help it, instincts kicking in and forcing him to fight back despite the futility. Eventually he had to take a breath. The second the perfluorocarbon ran down his throat, he choked on a coughing fit. It rapidly filled his lungs and Icarus had to [i]heave[/i] to get anything going in or out. The change in density made respiration difficult and his head go light. For a few seconds there was peace when his body finally adjusted. Then his head was yanked back up again.

"Do you know what [abbr=also known as death by a thousand cuts, a form of torture and execution used in China from roughly 900 CE until banned in 1905]lingchi[/abbr] is?" His perfect accent and enunciation of the Mandarin term caught Icarus totally off guard. Who the hell was he? The sudden realization that Platt was lying hit Icarus like train. Platt wasn't going to kill him anytime soon regardless of what Icarus did. He was going to let Icarus believe that was the plan and drag this out for as long as he could. Now he understood; death would not be welcomed until Platt permitted it. Platt would go on and on until Icarus either succumbed to his injuries or his mind finally snapped.

Fine then. Bring it on.

Platt was in his face again. "Of course you do, who am I kidding." He laughed then, and released his hold on his victim's hair. Icarus fell on his side then subsequently hacked up everything filling his lungs in an ugly cacophony of wheezing and vomiting. Tears streamed down his face as residual goo stung his eyes, blurring his vision. Platt began to roll up his sleeves. "I'll tell you something. The longest survivor of a live flaying lasted six whole fucking days. You know how long the salted one did?" He roughly smacked Icarus' face as if to grab his attention. "Four. You probably knew that, too."

Icarus squinted in the dim lighting, trying to get a better look at his captor. Then it clicked.
"Danylo Dog Butcher." Shit, one of Asimov's right-hand men.
"Good morning, Icarus the Fallen. You live well up to your reputation, not ten minutes and you already identify me. You have given Mister Asimov quite a headache. I am honored to be able to see you in the flesh. Unfortunately you are also quite dirty so I will refrain from shaking your hand."

Platt -well, Danylo- didn't seem surprised. A hint of amusement but otherwise no indication of how he felt about being recognized. Icarus knew Danylo wasn't the man's real name but that was what he went by. He had a feeling he also suspected where the rest of the pseudonym came from... As if reading his mind, Danylo said, "Would you like to see my dogs? Beautiful creatures. All of them minimum thirteen generations of the finest champion lines. Not that garbage show-line bullshit, I mean actual champion line. Well rounded working breeds. Do you know how magnificent it is to be able to see a dog do what it was made for?"

Icarus continued worrying at his left thumb.

"Not one of them has ever eaten kibble. I feed them only the finest meats God has to offer. They probably eat better than you." He chuckled and stepped forward to haul Icarus upright by his shirt. "Let's go meet them. They [i]love[/i] people."

His thumb snapped.

Fortunately the sound of his basal joint and metacarpal fracturing was muted due to the small size of the broken bones involved but Icarus couldn't help hissing from the pain. He struggled in Danylo's grasp. Danylo moved pick up Icarus off the floor but by then Icarus had already managed to free his left hand from his binds. Icarus grabbed Danylo's leg and pulled, taking advantage of the natural bend in his knee. Danylo instantly fell down to kneel and Icarus moved to pull his captor into a headlock. Danylo was a large man but was by no means out of shape. With a quick whip forward, Icarus found himself flipped forward straight over Danylo and flat onto his back. The concrete floor knocked the wind out of him. Danylo used the opportunity to scramble to his feet and out of reach. He pulled a knife from one of his pockets as Icarus staggered upright. The men began to circle each other. Danylo feigned a a jab forward and laughed when Icarus jerked back clumsily. His vision was hazy, footwork off and form incorrect- hell, he could barely stand upright. A car wreck and the several subsequent beatings severely impeded his ability to fight so if he was careful and lucky then maybe, just maybe...

Fumbling with his belt, Icarus pulled it out from the loops in his pants and held both ends on each fist. Danylo chose to change their rotation direction from counter-clockwise to clockwise and for a few more cycles they continued that way. Finally, Icarus stepped forward to force Danylo in the opposite direction, and lashed out. The metal end of the belt whooshed past Danylo's head, as anticipated, but in turn Danylo had stepped right into the bucket of perfluorocarbon that had been sitting there forgotten for the past several minutes. The Dog Butcher staggered and that's when Icarus moved in. He kicked out, the base of his shoe hitting Danylo straight in the abdomen. Danylo hunched forward and groaned but did not fall. Icarus quickly wrapped both end of the belt around his hands and lurched forward to wrap them around Danylo's neck. He twisted, pulled, and put out a leg to push against Danylo. Naturally, Danylo grasped at the leather around his throat in an attempt to pull it off all the while screaming angrily. His shouts were cut off into gasping. Icarus pulled harder and Danylo retaliated by lashing out with the knife still in his hand. The blade hit it's mark, a large gash tearing up the side of Icarus' thigh. Before Danylo could strike again Icarus leaned to the side and shoved Danylo away, releasing him. Still stunned from the lack of adequate oxygen, Danylo was too slow to move out of the way when Icarus kicked at his head. His head swung straight into the wall but that apparently only made him angrier.

Icarus took a wobbly step back as Danylo got up again. And then Danylo laughed. Icarus braced himself, expecting the other to charge, but was met with another stab of pain- this time in his shoulder as Danylo's knife came flying at him. Icarus screamed, losing his grip on the belt, and that's when Danylo decided to charge. He swung out with an uppercut. Icarus stepped back to dodge, just barely missing. Again, and again, and again. Finally Danylo had him nearly backed against the wall. Icarus pulled the knife from his shoulder and held it up, both arms shaking. He was beginning to grow dizzy.

Danylo laughed again. "That's it? You disappoint me. Think fast." He jabbed at Icarus and smiled when the man flinched. "Come on. Do something. Move, move." Danylo did this several more times, each hitting only air. Malicious play. He was toying with him. Icarus made the mistake of trying to go at him with the knife but was consequently knocked over with a harsh hit directly at his ear. He went down hard, knife skittering away somewhere out of sight. Danylo seized the opportunity to get on top and pin him by the throat. He pulled his arm back, and punched hard. Icarus was nearly knocked unconscious, blackness beginning to seep in the edges of his vision. Danylo prepared himself for another blow.

He failed.

In a last ditch effort to save himself, Icarus miraculously managed to grab the handle of the empty pail laying nearby and knocked it against Danylo's temple. The thin metal receptacle pathetically caved in upon impact but had done it's job long enough for Icarus to swing once more. Danylo fell to the side, a trickle of red staining the side of his head. Icarus sat up, held the bucket with both hands, and screamed as he brought it down on Danylo's neck. There was a crunch, and then no more. Danylo didn't move.

Icarus left.