Young Writers Society

Jo sat up, too, in anticipation of whatever torture was going to come their way. Jo hoped it was just some kind of prisoner situation, but that energy to the man's eyes suggested otherwise. He liked to play with his prisoners. Jo knew the type.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife.

Oh, Jo thought, feeling a pit form in her stomach. That was how this was going to start, then.

They tried to pretend they were Kyle. Kyle was used to pain in ways that Jo wasn't. It wasn't that his pain receptors no longer worked. The two of them had talked about it before. It was more than his mind was just so used to the pain that it turned them off, sometimes, because it knew there was no real danger. His nerves were wired different than Jo's were.

The man crouched down in front of them. He eyed the two of them like he was a butcher and was trying to determine which one of them was the juiciest bit of meat.

Jo didn't even have a chance to try turning attention on her. Right as they opened their mouth, the man moved forward and slashed at Heliodor Everett's arm with the now open pocket knife's blade.

Heliodor Everett watched the site of the wound, his white button-up turning red. It stung somewhere in the recesses of his mind. He should react to that. Growl or mumble or lunge. That’s what would protect Jo. But, it wasn’t a choice. As soon as knife met skin, his face fell to neutrality.

He looked up at his attacker, blinking in response. His words had evaporated. His only response was a blank, hollow glance.

I’m sorry, Jo. I tried to be better.

Heliodor Everett didn't react to getting cut. All he did was blink. Jo had gone completely still when the knife was plunged into his skin, but Heliodor Everett hadn't reacted at all. Even Kyle, who had questionable pain receptors, still flinched when hurt.

"Interesting," the man said, with a slight tilt of his head. He plunged the knife into the other arm now, tearing apart skin and releasing the blood underneath.

And all that Jo could bring themself to do was watch, horrified, with wide eyes and pale skin.

Heliodor Everett knew that Jo was terrified. He could see it in the corner of his eyes. Had she underestimated what he meant when he said pain was a seasoned friend?

The second stab wound was given the same reaction as the first. It became easier with every injury and his skin just became his pain. He watched the blood drip to the floor like a little cascade. No matter. Blood loss took the edge off. It made everything fuzzy.

"Interesting," the man said again.

"Stop," Jo begged, finally finding her voice. The man barely looked at her, and when he did it was with such disinterest. Jo had the horrible feeling that Heliodor Everett was the only one he wanted to focus his attention on right now. What had he seen when he had cut him? Was he amused by how little he had reacted? "Why are you doing this?"

Mutants and alis weren't the same thing, Jo knew. Jo also knew they had been subtle with their mutation. They were good at hiding. That was how they had escaped the constructs, back on the day that Kyle-

Their throat went dry. She felt like she was going to be sick at the memory of that terrible, terrible day.

The man looked at her, again, with that same kind of disinterest from before.

"Because there's something I need," he said, "and your friend is the one who has it."

"What do you mean?" Jo asked, bewildered, but he turned his attention back to Heliodor Everett like she hadn't spoken at all. In the knife went again, this time into his thigh. The man kept his gaze on Heliodor Everett's face.

Heliodor Everett was barely with this man anymore. It was all becoming a bloodstained haze.

”Do you know what they want from you, Everett?”

A young Heliodor Everett, ten years old at the time, flinched, nursing his bleeding arm. “For me to hurt.” He sniffled.

His father cuffed the back of his head. “No. They want you to react. They want a reason to hurt you again and again and again. Do you want that?”

Heliodor Everett shook his head.profusely, shrinking in on himself.

“Then don’t react. It doesn’t matter what they do to you, but you cannot break. Understand me?”

Heliodor Everett didn’t even look down at the wound this time. It was bleeding and aching and all of the things that used to make him flinch, but that didn’t matter. He couldn’t react.

"Stop," Jo begged again, noticing just how distant Heliodor Everett seemed right now. They knew very little about mental health, which was really a failing on their part, but they knew that dissociation was a thing. Was that what he was doing right now?

Maybe Jo's frequent begging was enough to catch the torturer's attention. It wasn't enough to make him really stop, but it was enough to make him turn back to face her.

"What's that thing you need?" Jo asked. Maybe she had it. Maybe she could trade their freedom for it.

"Something any man would want," the torturer said, eyeing Heliodor Everett again. "Immortality."

Jo's blood ran cold.

They didn't know how this man knew about someone in their group of four not being able to die. They didn't know why he was so convinced it was Heliodor Everett. But if he found out it was Kyle, and captured him instead-

Jo was going to be sick.

"...That's me," they said, voice quiet. The man studied her long and hard, then, before bridging the little distance between her and Heliodor Everett. Jo really should have seen the plunge of the knife coming.

He stabbed her arm. Hard.

Jo bit back a scream. She bit her lip and clenched her hands in such tight fists that there were little crescent moons in her palm when he finally drew the knife out.

"It's not you," he said, and he looked away as she stared at the blood welling up around the place he had cut her.

Heliodor Everett flickered back at that. He distantly watched the torturer stab Jo. He watched her act so human. She bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. He almost flinched. That’s what got people hurt more.

Heliodor Everett looked at his wounds and willed himself to respond. To react. To get himself hurt.

“Ow.”

It was dry and deadpan. It sounded more sarcastic than anything. Why couldn’t he feel anything? Why was he so… him?

The man laughed.

It was terrifying, hearing that laugh. Jo was used to being captured and hurt by people who despised mutants. Those people didn't find joy in what they did, most of the time. They thought harming mutants was part of some noble greater calling. This man's laughter implied he really did find this whole situation amusing.

"Nice try," the man said. "But your reaction is a little late."

Jo wanted so badly to argue that it couldn't be Heliodor Everett because it was Kyle, but they knew they couldn't throw Kyle under the bus like that. They couldn't risk him getting hurt, too.

But Heliodor Everett was getting hurt because this man was convinced he was immortal, and said man wasn't stopping even though he thought he knew because he was getting some sick high from this whole thing.

"But if you want to pretend," the man said, "let's try this again."

He looked Heliodor Everett right in the eyes, then made a long, long slash along his right leg.

That made Heliodor Everett fall silent again. He couldn’t look this man in the eye. He lowered his gaze, submitting. I’m worthless compared to you. I mean nothing.

He tried to say something, but he couldn’t even open his mouth. He stayed silent, not looking at him or the wound. Before he could spiral and feel guilty for not protecting Jo, he stopped.

The man was amused that he wasn’t reacting. He decided to ignore Jo when she did react. His blank face, neutral stare was protecting Jo. He was doing something right for the first time in his truly pathetic time around Jo and Kyle.

That idea sparked something in him. Something he had never felt before. He looked back up, staring this man dead in the eyes.

“That didn’t hurt at all.”

Jo's eyes widened even more, then.

She knew what Heliodor Everett was trying to do because she had just tried doing the same thing herself. But it was Heliodor Everett that their captor believed in more. He was the one who didn't react to pain.

"That's what I thought," the man said. He opened his mouth and moved like he was about to say something as he hurt Heliodor Everett even more, but then there was a ringing in his pocket.

Jo went still.

Was that a cell phone?

A moment later, they got their confirmation. The man pulled out a cell phone. With a sigh, a pause, and then a smile, the man turned back to the two of them.

"I'll be back," he said. "Don't go anywhere—not that you can."

He turned his backs to the two of them. Jo thought, watching him leave the dungeon. They moved their wrists a bit, thinking as they tested the strength of the metal cuffs around their wrists.

The torturer closed the door behind him.

Heliodor Everett deflated. What had he just done? He had never done anything like that. He had willingly defied someone. His vision was starting warp slightly. His clothes were drenched in blood. Was he going to die here? He wasn’t actually immortal.

“Jo?” His words were starting to slur slightly. The threat was gone. His demeanor was melting. He felt sick. “You… you need to escape.”

Jo was studying the cuffs around her wrists, then, but she let herself stop studying them so she could look over at Helidor Everett.

"You do, too," they said. They could hear his words slurring. Losing all that blood wasn't good. Jo wasn't a doctor, but she had seen Kyle die from various injuries before. They had a vague idea of what blood loss and pain could do a person.

They looked back down at their cuffs.

Jo wanted to smack herself in the face for not thinking of it sooner, but the torturer had been so busy looking for someone who was immortal that they hadn't realized other powers were present in their group.

Jo closed her eyes. She breathed in, out, and in again, because this could potentially hurt if she was wrong about who had the right proportions. A moment later, they shifted, form going from their actual one to one of the kids they had seen running around Mutopia before.

A kid whose wrists and ankles were much smaller than Jo's.

Jo wiggled her arms and legs free with ease, then switched back to herself as she made her way over to Heliodor Everett.

"I'm going to get you out," she promised. Now, who could she change into? She needed someone strong, someone who could tear apart the metal like it was nothing. They could also turn into someone who was very hot and melt the metal, but then the molten metal could fall on Heliodor Everett.

They screwed their face up in concentration, then became a great, hulking woman made of muscle and metal. The cuffs around Heliodor Everett's wrists were the old-fashioned kind, the ones that had one part where they were fastened together. All Jo had to do was tug right there, and they broke apart easily. With her current form's strength, she broke through his cuffs with ease.

Heliodor Everett blinked dully for a moment before he forced himself to his feet. Standing after a series of an injuries was always the worst part, but it was necessary. No one would help you. No one would save you. If you didn’t stand on your own, you would die there.

He bowed to Jo, ignoring how it made his thigh burn. Ignoring how he could himself growing dizzier. “Thank you, miss.” He stood up again, forcing himself back into the role he always needed to play. Posture hunched, eyes down. Back to telling everyone he was worse than everyone.

Jo rushed to support Heliodor Everett when he stood back up after bowing. She wanted to question why he would think it was a good idea to do something like that when blood loss was probably making it hard for him to stay standing, but then she remembered the little she knew of his history.

"Don't push yourself," they said. "I'll help you walk."