TORTURED (Thriller)

The room was cold, suffocating in its silence, broken only by the faint, irregular dripping of water from somewhere unseen. Chains hung from the walls, their rusted metal stained with marks that told stories of suffering. A single bulb swayed overhead, casting eerie, flickering light across the figure bound to the chair.

His face was a canvas of agony-cuts, bruises, and streaks of dried blood crisscrossed his features like a grotesque map. Sweat clung to him like a second skin, his breath shallow and ragged as he fought to stay conscious. Every nerve in his body screamed, each movement a cruel reminder of the pain inflicted.

In the shadows, a figure loomed, their face obscured but their intent chillingly clear. The tools of torment lay neatly arranged on a nearby table-pliers, blades, syringes-each one a silent promise of suffering yet to come.

"You know what I want," the voice cut through the darkness, low and calm, yet heavy with menace. The man in the chair shook his head weakly, a defiant spark in his tortured eyes.

But defiance had a price. And here, in this forgotten corner of the world where screams went unheard, that price would be paid in blood.