On the run

The bearded man’s whip cracks against the lean one’s back as he bends over, muscles taut, while the other secures his wrists with tight rope loops against the wall. Both are stripped bare by the end, sweat glistening on their skin as the first strike lands again, the sting sharp and deliberate. The lean one’s breath comes fast, fingers digging into the concrete floor, while the bearded one grips the rope, his grip unyielding. No mercy, just the burn of the lash and the cold pull of the bonds.