Slaughter's House [Ruby & Jacob] [M]

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arning! The following thread contains explicite violence and gore, go back now unless you know you can handle it.
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It was late after work, Max had gone back from the PD and just opened the door to his apartment, removing his coat and shoes as he walked around the house to turn on the lights and gather some more comfortable clothes to put on after he had showered. He was rather tired, today's cases had involved a lot of thinking and he had been on duty to interrogate two people. One for just an hour, but the second one took about five. Exhausting on both ends, but the difference was that Max wasn't allowed to let that show.
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Lucius was being a good dog, training as a puppy in the PD was not always fun, but he behaved most of the time. The pup lay in front of the bathroom door as he always did when his owner showered. Always worried that he was going to be forgotten, left behind or something. But his master always came out to pet him and give him food when he was done. He stood under the shower after cleaning his beard, letting the hot water soak his head and wash away the throbbing he experienced when he had focused on something for too long. He remained a long time under the hot shower, steam gathering in his bathroom while the door remained closed. The only sound he could hear was that of the rushing water. Max finally shut the shower, dried himself, and dressed while the steam engulfed his silhouette. When he opened the bathroom's door most of the steam had been sucked in by the vent, permitting him to keep the rest of his apartment dry.
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He was surprised to feel strange when he walked out, half dress and rubbing his head with the towel. He stopped and looked around, unable to see his dog anywhere. Where had that little beast gone again? Usually it came to him right away, happy to have his master back from the o so evil bathroom who took him away every day for a short amount of time. "Lucius?" he made a sucking kissing sound to call the pup, looking around the room as he guessed that perhaps the pup got bored and stole something to chew on. But there was something aloof. Something that didn't feel right. He suddenly heard some scratching from one of his closets. How did the dog get in there? He walked up to the closet and was about to open it when he felt the cold metal of a weapon on his neck. "Don't move." a gun was stiffly pointed, and the voice behind him was muffled.
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What was this all about? Did Shaun finally send someone for retaliation? Or did the PD catch up on his actions and decided to take him to court? He was confused, and tried to turn his head to see who was menacing him. Automatically he had raised his hands, trying to think quickly. What to do? So many questions but none of them were answered, except the one that he should probably listen before acting since he had no idea who he was going up against. As his head turned, he saw the dark silhouette of several armed men, their faces hidden. He had no time to see more, his own baseball bat came flat against his head, making him black out.
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There were a few whispers, echoing around him. From the cold and the sounds, it felt like he was in a very large place. Something appeared to be blocking some of the echoes however, but Max's closed eyes didn't help him understand more. He could feel the tip of his feet rattle on the ground, but never fully touching it, the pressure of his blood could be felt all in his legs, probably explaining why it took him so long to analyse everything. His mind felt so slow, and that was probably due to the blinding, throbbing pain on the side of his head. Max slowly started to remember that he took a baseball bat to the head, something that quite surely made him blackout instantly. His jaw was dropped, as he slowly took conscious of the situation.
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The man slowly opened his eyes as he felt a bright light hover on his face. He also smelled something really strong right under his nose. He had smelled that somewhere else before, and for some reason, that thing blew away the fog from his mind as he opened his eyes and tried to move his face away from a piece of tissue, held by a man in front of him. The man in front of him held a flashlight and a gun. Max tried to move away further when he took notice of his body's condition. his hands were tied over his head, his arms strapped together to assure that he would have no way of escaping. He was literally hanging from a meat hanger while his feet were tied together, barely touching the ground. Max already knew that he had no energy left in his body to do anything about his present condition for the moment.
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As he looked around, a frown appeared on his face. There were five men around, two seemed important while the three others just looked imposing. Big arms for show. He also noticed that what forbid all the voices from echoing completely were all the...pig and cow bodies hanging all around them. Were they in a slaughterhouse? Why were they here in the first place, is what Madden truly wondered. Were those men from Enigma or the Bianchi? From their looks they could be either. Max had no idea what was going on, alarmed by the reason of their actions, and by the presence of a few very specific tools sticking out of a bag. Hammer, saw, sharp knives, chains with spikes on them, it was like that bag was throwing up the tools brought back from a trip to hell. And he couldn't see all that was inside. It wasn't actually dark in the slaughterhouse, a few lamps were illuminating the alleys between the cattle hanging. Max guessed it was because the men in front of him didn't want to be noticed and only lit a few lights instead of the entire building. The location also explained the cold, and now that Max's eyes were open, he could see his warm breath shifting into a faint cloud.
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There was something frightening about the situation. You can't escape, and you don't know why you are here, hung like a pig ready to see a knife slice its throat. Without wanting it, Max had gotten himself in a very bad posture, his heart beating faster as the urgency of finding a solution to escape sunk deep into his brain and nerves. As he looked around he couldn’t see enough to find a reliable escape route. The ceiling was low and there was no sign of windows anywhere. The place felt so small because of all the shadows cast around him by the bodies of animals hung. It wasn’t a nice sight, but it was the least of the cop’s worries. One of the men spoke, one of the more ‘important’ looking ones. “You aren’t going anywhere so you start talking now.” His English was fairly terrible, but Max understood what he was saying. A frown started to grow upon his face. Talk about what? The answer to his mental question came a second later. “Where are Mr White’s assassins? They are both alive, we know that. It’s your fault they are still alive. Where are they?” the man’s voice sounded imperial, ordering Madden to give him answers. Max was more than confused. Mr White, who was that man? His captor also mentioned assassins, could it be that he was talking about Jacob and Ruby? Maybe Mr White was the target they were supposed to eliminate that night Jacob nearly died about two weeks ago. Max looked at the men, a slow growing anger in his chest, lighting the embers leftover from that night he thought he would lose one of his friends.
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He replied nothing, knowing how interrogations would go. The best ways to deal with it was to remain quiet and concentrate on getting away, on trying to find a crack in the system to escape. He knew they didn’t come to just bore him with words until he gave up and gave answers. That bag with weapons of ungodly aesthetics was probably not meant to simply add to the current decoration of the place. He wasn’t to speak. He couldn’t say where the two lived. Trust had to be mutual, and he trusted that they would have done the same thing for him. His silence did not please the men, and so the one asking the questions, to Max’s biggest surprise, came to him to punch him in the sternum. The cop choked, coughing as he slowly regained his breath after the hit. The interrogator waited patiently, his hands joined at the level of his stomach. “Do I need to ask the question again Mr Madden?” he seemed to be younger than Max, not very imposing in size, but a slim and knotty muscled body. Madden replied not, refusing to open his lips to let even the slightest of words come out. His bare chest showed his breathing regaining a regular pace, but beyond the breathing, there was the beating of his heart, unstopping stallion charging and about to jump out of his rib cage. Silence was only met with a second punch in the sternum; the young interrogator then grabbed Max’s jaw between his bony fingers. “Where are the assassins?” Still no answer, only a burning glare and a snarled lip. That lip ended up cracked a moment later when Max received a strong blow to his face.
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During all of that silence and recovering from each blow, Max had been slowly trying to figure out with what he had been tied up with. He could barely feel his fingers, but from the looks of it, it was tape, some very strong tape. The type used to close shut a crocodile’s jaws. Several layers of it curled around Max’s wrists. He didn’t believe that they intended on keeping him alive in the end, and that thought was, maddening. Frightening. He couldn’t do anything, and panic started to nest itself in his mind. This couldn’t possibly be his last memory of the world. A slaughterhouse, those men, the pain, no familiar faces to look at while going away. He was alone on this, and fear and despair was slowly creeping in. Those were too familiar to his mind, he never wished to ever feel those two feelings at the same time ever again. He tried to use his nail to find the joint of the tape, trying to find a way to get out of this. Come on Max, you can find something, get out of this shit now before it’s too late. He used the remaining energy in his arms to lift himself and try to kick the interrogator in the face, which he succeeded in accomplishing by playing the card of surprise.
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Maybe they picked up on the slight movements of his fingers, maybe they saw that he was onto something, that he was about to find a way to fight back despite the lack of energy in his body, because retaliation was immediate. As the interrogator fell backwards with a hand to his face, Max felt striking pain on his back. It felt cold at first, but soon shifted in a tongue of fire, licking his flesh like a white iron on a horse’s flank. He had no idea what stroke him, but he felt all of the muscles in him tense at the pain. He couldn’t retain a cry, letting it echo in the hallways of flesh and bones. Any thoughts he had were blanked out, erased to leave place to the blinding pain. A second strike came, giving him the exact same sensation as the first time. He looked at the floor, the white tiled floor, only to see a few red drops on it, slowly smeared as the tip of his feet hovered over it. He felt like his body was holding back a shiver, that it was doing so to prevent him from experiencing more pain because of it. The pain made him want to throw up, a if it could be a way to expulse the pain. He looked up and saw the interrogator come back to him, his nose crooked and blood dripping on his lips. His tone, as he spoke again, was filled with new hatred towards the cop. “Where are the two assassins, where are your friends Madden?”