Get Moving

With great caution John searched the dead Cenobite, but other than it's leather getup the creature seemed to be devoid of posessions. So, with little else to do, he picked a direction at random and began to walk.

Minutes stretched on into hours but the hall just seemed to go on and on; twisting and turning. Sometimes he was sure he'd come full circle. Occasionally he'd hear what sounded like eerie cries for help, but they were always fleeting. He couldn't tell if they were coming from up ahead or back behind. It was maddening!

When he eventually came to a door he almost feared he was starting to imagine things. It was thick, blackened wood with iron bracers. He peeked in through a narrow slat, into the darkened room. Fire crackled somewhere inside, casting intermittent, shifting light on two figures. One was obviously a Cenobite- it's features were like that of melted plastic, with lips and cheeks peeled back to reveal jagged teeth. The other was, or at least used to be a human being. His body was strapped down to a wooden table and his arms and legs were mere stumps, wrapped in filthy bandages.

"No, no, please! No more...," the writhing mass of blood-caked flesh sobbed.

The Cenobite was oblivious to the pathetic please. Currently it was busily going through tools on a nearby table. The table itself was mated in dried blood and entrails. It held up a pole, about two feet long and an inch in diameter and looked at it appraisingly. One end was beveled like a syringe. Then, apparently satisfied, it turned it's attention to the pleading captive.

As the Cenobite inserted the pole, screams of agony turned to a thick gurgling.

Overcome with nausea, John turned away and struggled to remain silent despite the overwhelming urge to vomit. Doubled over, he lurched further down the hall until it eventually began to subside.

"Isn't the sight of such devine suffering just awe inspiring?" a cold female voice said.

John immediately stood back up. Standing before him was a Cenobite. This one was female, at least in proportion and facial structure. At first glance, he'd thought that her arms had been amputated. But then he realized that the black leather garment she was wearing was binding them tightly behind her back. Not that she needed them to cause suffering, as three spinning blades hovered just over her right shoulder. What she spoke through appeared as more of a jagged open wound than a mouth.

"Come now," and blood dripped from her mouth. "Don't you yearn for such sweet agony?"

There was nowhere to run but back the way he'd come. What to do?