Title :: Elite Hunting
Rating :: FR21
Word Count :: 1925
Disclaimer :: Hostel and all related characters are copyright Eli Roth, Quentin Tarantino, Boaz Yakin and the Screen Gems and Lion Gate Films. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.***
Warning :: Brutal scenes of torture and violence. ***
Note :: This bunny was born after watching Hostel and Hostel II and is not necessarily for the faint of heart.
Synopsis: There is a place where all of your darkest desires and sickest fantasies can come true—or at least there was until Faith and Buffy were taken there. Crossover w/Hostel ***torture warning*** Elite Hunting
A dull throbbing behind her eyes woke Faith and she blinked, opening them to find herself shrouded in darkness. Her brows drew low as she shook her head and the throbbing became a stabbing pain that halted her next breath and left her panting. Shallow breathes that were pushed back at her as she slowly came to the realization that her head was covered with some sort of dark fabric and she was sitting upright. She jerked upward and winced as metal bit into both her wrists and ankles, halting her forward momentum and she fell back into a chair.
It groaned with her shift in weight, but remained upright and in the same position telling her it was more the likely bolted down. “The hell?” her growled question echoed in the space around her and she frowned harder before letting her eyes, which were currently useless, fall closed. A steady dripping was to her left and there was a heating vent directly behind and above her hissing air into the already overly warm room.
She inhaled, nose wrinkling as the sickly sweet smell of blood reached her and beneath that she smelled meat and death. A cough shook her chest and she winced as the coarse fabric covering her chest brushed against her nipples and shuddered with the realization that they had changed her. Whoever the fuck they
were. Her last memory of the night before was a dank disco in Slovakia where she and Buffy—dammit where was B—drank too much cheap wine and stumbled back to their hostel to sleep it off.
A scream jerked her head to the left and her wrists torqued, the metal holding them down giving a low pop of protest as she faintly heard a man begin to beg someone to stop before he shrieked in pain. Her mouth dried and her head spun back towards center when she heard a heavy bar sliding, metal against metal, and cold air swept in with the sound of a door opening. She jerked at her wrists again and snarled, “Who the fuck is there?”
,” was murmured and the door slammed close.
Faith shook her head, ignoring the pain lacerating her brain from the quick movement and tried to shake off the bag covering her head. Soft footfalls drew nearer to her and what she assumed was the center of the room, and the man, definitely a man, tsked her struggles before lightly grasping a bit of the fabric at the crown of her head and dragging it downward. The bag concaved around her face for a few moments, forcing on her a sudden sense of claustrophobia before it fell away and she was left gasping with her head down and hair tumbling around her face.
She blinked at the sight of her bare thighs and Faith’s lips peeled back with a snarl as she lifted her head, only to frown at the empty space in front of her. “Where the—” she trailed off and shuddered when she heard a drill sputter to life behind her. Faith’s head jerked to the side and she shot a glare towards her would be whatever and offered, “The smart thing would be to let me go.”
The drill paused and Faith hesitated, nearly hopeful, before it started back up directly behind her. She jerked forward and then winced at the sound of masculine laughter. “I’m gonna kill you and it’s gonna hurt,” the promise only succeeded in bringing her assailant to her side and she turned her head, met his so very calm stare and nearly shuddered again at the lack of humanity in such a human gaze. She could see the movement behind the surgical mask he wore as he smiled and leveled the drill directly before her face and turned it on.
She jumped and jerked her wrists, feeling the handcuffs holding them down give a little more with the movement, as the drill was lowered toward her lap. “You, son of a bitch, if you so much as scratch—” her threat ended abruptly with a shriek of shocked pain as the drill bit into the tender flesh of her thigh and the added pain and fear gave her the extra incentive needed as she pulled at her wrists and the metal holding her right wrist gave way.
Sweat-slicked fingers caught the hand holding the power drill and jerked it free of her thigh. She ignored the new white hot wash of pain and her torturer’s startled grunt before twisting the drill toward him and slamming it into his stomach. She hooked a finger over his and pressed down, turning the drill on and those human blue eyes widened above his mask before he gave his own startled shriek of pain and Faith spat in his face, “How the fuck do you like it?”
He released the drill and fell back, stumbling away from her, clutching his stomach as Faith tugged at her left wrist, pulling until the handcuff gave way. She watched him fall to his ass only a few feet from the door and what looked like a small control panel before focusing on freeing her ankles. Under the combined strength of her arms, she broke the remaining bindings easily and rose, wincing as her right thigh screamed in protest and blood trickled down her leg in a steady stream.
Overlooking her pain she moved toward the withering asshole on the ground and pressed down on the drill’s trigger and smiled when he flinched in terror. She stood over him, cocking her head as his blue eyes widened further and she snarled, “Where’s Buffy?” He blinked, shaking his head in confusion and Faith bent, bringing the drill closer to his face and suddenly he was begging her in a language she hadn’t a clue how to understand. “For fucks sake.” She drove the heel of her left foot into the hands clutching his wound and he rolled onto his side, away from her, and vomited.
Faith gave an inarticulate snarl of protest and spun, chucking the drill at the wall and felt no sense satisfaction as it shattered against the cement walls. Brown eyes narrowed when she noticed the table lining said wall and she moved awkwardly towards it, taking in the rows of instruments of torture. A slow smile of satisfaction spread across her face before she snatched up a filthy and wicked looking machete and a hand gun. Wesley had shown her enough about them to know how to take the safety off, which she did, before turning back to her torturer.
Her jaw thrust forward and she pointed it at him, hand steady and breath coming in shallow pants before her eyes screwed shut and she pointed the gun towards the ceiling. She moved past the chair she’d woken up in and to the fucking heavy looking door offering the son of bitch whimpering on the floor as she passed, “You’re lucky I’m reformed.”
Dropping the machete and switching the gun to her left hand, Faith put her right shoulder against the door and shoved. The wood surrounding the latch lock cracked and groaned, but held steady and Faith grunted, taking a step back. Ignoring the heavy feeling in her right thigh she rushed her way forward and put shoulder to door once more, it shuddered and snapped, yawning its way open and spilling Faith into the cold hallway. She winced at the rapid temperature change and ducked back into the room to grab the machete before turning back towards her semi-freedom and wondered which way to go.
With a shrug and prayer she turned right when a familiar shriek paused her steps and she turned back around. At the end of the hall there was a room with a blinking red light above it and brown eyes narrowed before she started out at a steady jog towards that door. Her steps quickened when she heard a familiar snarl of words and another, louder shriek accompanied the first. She reached the door a moment later and jerked the latch and door open and stumbled back when a scalpel flashed towards her face.
“Buffy!” Her startled cry of the blonde’s name stopped the bit of metal from rushing towards her again and familiar green eyes stared at her blankly a moment before Buffy stepped back and Faith moved that step forward taking a quick inventory of her sister in arms. Blood coated the right side of Buffy’s neck and she was clutching something in her left hand and the one holding the scalpel began to shake. “Buffy?”
Faith made her name a question and Buffy shook her head, turned back towards the frightened man curled against the side of the room, clutching the right side of his head. She lifted her tightly clenched fist and let her fingers uncurl, baring the bit of blood covered flesh she clutched to the dim lighting and stated, voice devoid of emotion, “He took mine. So I took his.”
Brown eyes widened when Faith realized Buffy held a human ear in her hand and her gaze flicked back toward her blood coated throat and the side of her head covered by her hair. She swallowed the sudden and intense urge to be sick and reached out, grabbed Buffy’s arm and yanked her back towards the open door. “Let’s get the hell outta here,” when Buffy failed to move, Faith jerked her arm again, “now, B!”
She turned, frowned at Faith and shook her head, standing her ground. “He’s done this before. So many times. He told me about them before…” she trailed off and turned her focus back on the whimpering excuse of a human huddled away from them.
Faith moved in front of her, drew Buffy’s focus away from her intended victim and stated, “He’s human.”
Green eyes stared at her steadily a moment before Buffy replied, “So am I.”
A sigh lifted and dropped her shoulders before Faith offered, “You’re better then them.”
Buffy frowned and lowered the scalpel an inch. A shudder shook across her shoulders before she inclined her head and narrowed her gaze on Faith’s face before she stated with certainty, “We’re
Faith blinked, startled by the vehemence in Buffy’s voice before she offered her a weak smile. “We are.”
The bit of meat fell from Buffy’s hand before she turned, gaze searching the floor until she darted back toward the pieces of shattered wood that had been her chair. She snatched something up from the ground and left the scalpel behind for a crowbar from the table filled with blunt and sharp weapons along the far wall of the room. Buffy’s torturer whimpered when she drew to near to him and she paused, smiled a bit and then made her way back towards Faith who inclined her head towards the new little something she clutched.
A tightness grew around the corner of Buffy’s mouth before she lifted her hand and showed Faith the human ear, three earings still nestled in it, and asked, “Do you think Willow can reattach it?”
Her chin dipped. “I do,” the hopeful look Buffy sent her nearly had Faith shooting the piece of shit still huddled, still whimpering before she focused on the important, “Now let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“And if they try to stop us?”
“We’ve got a right, B, to survive this hellhole.”
“And if it’s kill or be killed?”
Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Kill.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” The end.