The man tied to the metal table tried to scream, but he was too weak to make a sound. His strength had left him; along with most of his skin.

Not that it mattered.

The other man in the room continued sharpening his tools. He remained out of range of the operation lights, sticking to the shadows, only letting his victim see him when he wanted him to.

Keeping the skinless one alive wasn’t the objective, after all.

But, the man with the knives conceded, the pain the other was feeling must have been…indescribable.

Necessary, but excruciating.

“Don’t worry, kid, this is all for a good cause,” he reassured the delirious man, “If I can do this much now, could you imagine what I’d be capable of if I got a higher education in prison?”

He finished sharpening his last tool and made his way back over to his victim, shaking his head

“I would just slit your throat and be done with it, but sometimes we have to make a point. Unfortunately for you, they’ll be able to tell if we take any shortcuts.”

Stolen novel; please report.

The man writhed against the metal bindings, tiny whimpers and cries leaving him as they dug into his skinless wrists.

“And if I’m being completely honest,” said the deranged man, coming fully into the light, looking down at the dying man like a dear friend, “this is just a little bit fun.”

The man on the table weakly shook his head, but that mattered very little to the one orchestrating the entire show. He returned to where he’d left off, where the dulling blade had caused an uneven knick in the skin he was being so careful with. The slicing continued.

Blood welled up, the muscles under the skin spasmed in an attempt to get away, and a sob echoed through the room.

The skinning paused just long enough for the monster in human skin to look up and meet his victims eyes. The smile he wore while staring down at his prey was so terrifying that the sobs immediately stopped.

“Now, now; none of this would be happening if you’d just kept your mouth shut,” he sighed, turning back to his work and continuing, “Now look what you’ve made me do.”

With a precise drag of the blade, he pulled loose another strip of skin, ignoring the hoarse, voiceless scream it’s owner made.He walked away with quick, quiet steps, making his way over to the workbench and, with an odd air of reverence, placed the strip next to the others.

The sounds of labored breathing started up, wheezing out from a throat torn apart by overuse.

“It’s called a natural consequence, Mister Beiler, do try not to take this personally.”

But by the time the knife started cutting into his skin again, Jared Beiler had finally fallen into an unconsciousness he wouldn’t be waking up from.