The little corporal awakes screaming in pain, his agony falls on deaf ears, and cold wet cement. His screaming stops, the adrenaline rushing through his body, blood and saliva dripped out of his mouth as he clenched down controlling his pain. The sweat flowing down his face, permeated the room with the smell of fear and doom.
The thick hemp ropes lashed him to a solid wooden chair. He begins to open his eyes and focus. The cement walls cast a glow about the room, the brilliance of the high wattage bulb is refracting in every direction filling the room in light.
Blood is dripping off the chair, running across the floor into a drain, the incline perfectly angled away from the chain, to carry away the fluids dripping from the chair.
His bare chest glistens in sweat and blood. There are no tears in the room, just pain and suffering.
With the trigger depressed by the old black hand, the motor starts to rev again, its high pitched roar. The man with the gray hair grins, his dark face illuminated by the light. A drop of blood falls off the drill bit, pieces of flesh and bone stuck onto it with a bloody adhesive, it is sucked down by gravity to join the the pool gathering underneath the drill.
Blood spurts out of the mans shoulder as the drill bit is plunged into him again and again.