Drip. Drip.
The sound of blood drops falling on the ground echoed in the quiet torture chamber as a bloodied body painfully hung in the middle of the room. Metal chains tightly wrapped around the wrists held the body in the air a few inches up from the blood-filled ground.
Mateo's eyes remained closed even though he was half-conscious, as they were bruised and swollen and his body had no strength.
The dim light cast shadows across his face, which was battered with bruises to the point of being unrecognizable. His whole body was filled with old and fresh wounds, making blood seep from them.
Mateo was barely hanging onto his life as he had gone through gruesome tortures for seven days. His breath was shallow and ragged, and with each exhale he took, his own metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, which filled the air, making him slowly lose his mind and his stomach churn with nausea.
