I am craving that sweet hero/villain goodness. (o/o)

“Pull it out of me, then,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Make me beg. Make me grovel. Make me care, Callum. Because I don’t. I couldn’t give two shits about my situation.”
And for that, he actually was telling the truth. Sullivan didn’t care about what he did here. He didn’t care about who he was with, what happened, how much he ate— the only thing he cared about was time. He needed time to think. Time to plan.
Everything would be better if he could just wait. Wait for the right moment, the right opening. He didn’t care how fast it came or what Callum made him do in the meantime.

Sullivan could already feel his face begin to throb as the blood rushed to each point of contact. As fast as it had come on, a headache pieced through his temples, and he choked on the blood filling his throat. From his nose came a steady stream, and once Callum was done with the outburst of punches, Sullivan spat the blood aside. It didn’t do much, though, the taste lingering there for longer than he’d like. He could tell his nose wasn’t broken, but the impact had done a number.
But if bruised and bloodied was what Callum needed in order to leave him alone, so be it. It wasn’t the worst pain he had ever felt, even if it left his eyes watering and his straitjacket stained in his own crimson mistakes.

Sullivan was, to say the least, extremely pleased when Callum seemed to lose interest and leave. While the silence was something he had been hearing for the last couple days, it was familiar, and he was happy to go back to it.
Even if his head ached worse than ever, and he could already feel the blood begin to dry on his face. He could do nothing to fix that, though. Even so, he was thankful the muzzle was off and he could finally breathe without any hinderance.
Sul couldn’t say he hated the pain. With all the pet names Callum called him, he would have expected a punishment a little… different. The punching was actually a nice surprise. Call him a psychopath, but it made sense in his mind.
Upon hearing Callum’s words as he walked out, Sullivan made a silent promise to himself to not eat anything they offered. Maybe it was an act of rebellion, or maybe it was all part of some un-designed plan. Either way, he knew he’d follow through with it. They’d have to IV him before he ever took a single bite.

Sullivan cocked his head to the side— well, as much as the shackles would provide. He didn’t recognize the woman at all, but the way she held herself with such authority made her almost familiar. He would assume she was one of Callum’s higher-ups, that worked closely with him, but her words held such… well, Sul couldn’t put a word to it. It was extremely confusing, and almost made him trust her, but he was still oddly skeptical. So he stayed quiet, despite no longer having a muzzle, and didn’t bother to try to eat. He actually didn’t even know how he would— the straitjacket was… well, kind of restricting.

Sul met her eyes, trying his damndest to decipher what she meant. Maybe he was out of it, maybe it was the headache, maybe it was how his eye was swollen and he couldn’t really see. Either way, there was something so unreadable about her actions.
She could be trying to get him to eat by saying words he wanted to hear. He knew for a fact Callum wanted him to stay alive, and if an IV drip was on the table, he meant it. And if he didn’t even have to use an IV, then better on him. That was one less set of medical equipment he had to deal with.
“Elaborate?” Sullivan muttered, spitting out another mouthful of blood. It was more viscous than before, and in order to speak somewhat audibly, he needed to get it out. Even if it wasn’t the prettiest sight.

Neither will her boss? Sullivan thought to himself, not allowing the confusion to show on his face. So she’s not working under Callum..?
He was still skeptical but ate anyway, stopping prematurely just for the sake of defiance and control. Sul didn’t entirely believe this woman— figuring for the worst, that she was just saying whatever she could in order to get him to eat. But some little hope still tugged at the edges of his heart, and he wanted so desperately to have blind faith. To promise himself that everything would work out in the end… but he couldn’t. That wasn’t who he was.
Again, his only plan was to wait. To wait and figure things out as he went.

If humans didn’t need sustenance, then he wouldn’t have eaten. But he could feel his stomach eating itself from the inside out, burning and aching as he took the food begrudgingly. It hurt him mentally to cooperate, but cooperating took less energy. He needed to save as much as he could, right now.
But the food did taste just like metallic blood, anyway. His head still ached like there was no tomorrow and his eye still throbbed— he could almost feel the bruise coming on as it beat in harmony with his heart. Even so, he finished his food slowly and met the woman’s eyes with icy ones of his own.

Sullivan looked utterly unimpressed, coughing lightly as he swallowed the last of the soup. He made an attempt to wipe the blood from his mouth, leaning down to nuzzle his shoulder with little success. Plus, it had already dried, so it was useless in the first place.
“Throw it out,” he mumbled, squinting like as if he was trying to decipher some kind of code. “I’d rather not gag my way through anything else.”

“Siren…,” he repeated absently, eyes following her out. He let his voice drift off, preoccupied with each one of his running thoughts to speak any more.
He had to say, he was dreading the next few days. And the days after that. Just dreading how long he’d be stuck here, because now that Callum had addressed him personally and socked him a few times, it reinforced the fact that Sul had lost. He had been defeated, and he didn’t know who in this wretched place he could trust. Siren spoke of a revolution, but it seemed too farfetched to ever hope for.
But… if it came, he’d be part of it.

Sullivan had spent his last few days not eating much— only when Siren came. He couldn’t figure out why he wanted to trust her so bad, and hold on to her words dearly, and cradle them to his chest. But he didn’t. In this situation it was kill or be killed, and he wasn’t too keen on the latter.
He resisted the urge to flinch when Callum walked in, just wishing and pleading to get this over with before he lost a tooth. Or.. worse.
So he said nothing, simply watching coldly as the man appeared in the doorway.

“But of course I adore you,” Sullivan replied, words nearly dripping with sarcasm. “I have no reason not to.”
He figured his words would gain him a punishment, but he honestly couldn’t care less. Pain was welcome, because with every numb limb in his body for staying so still— staying in the same place with the same everything— made him long for some kind of feeling. Even if it was pain. He felt like every single one of his nerves had been severed from the neck down, even with the cold metal shackles biting into his exposed skin, which was few and far between.

He couldn’t help the shakiness in his voice as he replied, “W-wonderful.”
Sul took a deep breath— well, as deep as the straitjacket would permit, with the belts wrapping around his frame tightly. He had always been so claustrophobic, but now he felt like he was actually getting used to it. The first couple days were what he could clearly consider hell, in a small cell with the most restraining equipment he had ever seen.
Although Callum’s promise of torture today seemed par for the course, it still took him slightly by surprise. He thought he’d have more time before he was forced to pieces, and he took each minute for granted. He mulled over a series of the most profane words he had ever heard, reciting each one with as much fear and anger as he could muster. But, outside he stayed cold. Stayed distant. Stayed still, with his skin tingling and his hair falling into his freezing dark eyes.

If the guards weren’t there, Sullivan would have yanked back on the leash, kicked forward, done all in his power to send the man flying, and maybe, just maybe, end his sorry life. But, for now, he had to stay still. He had to stay still and stay sane until he and Callum were alone, and then he could carry out one of the many lucky circumstances running through his head.
So he took a step forward, his knee locking and sending him stumbling slightly more forward, until he regained himself and began walking forward once more, a clear limp in his step. He hadn’t had to use those muscles whatsoever within the last few days, so with the sheer fatigue, it felt like every muscle was seizing up at once. He winced, but didn’t pay it much mind, just desperate to keep the collar from choking him.

Not that he didn’t already know this before, but the only thing running through his mind was wow, this man is a total psychopath. It was a revelation he had had too many times, but it kept getting truer and truer by the moment, and Sul couldn’t say he was much of a fan.
He stayed quiet, mostly listening to all of Callum’s orders without a second thought. He had anticipated all of this, more or less, and was relatively mentally prepared.
Regardless, he couldn’t help but shake. He was probably banking on the fact that he didn’t want to give Callum a single reaction, and perhaps that made him shake a little more. Just slight shivers, internal, stemming from his fast-beating heart.