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What is worse than death? What induces pain and suffering? What refuses to allow you to take the easy way out? Because death ends your pain and suffering and death allows you to take the easy way out. When you die, you are the only one who is not experiencing torture…
…torture is worse than death…torture induces pain and suffering…torture refuses to allow you to take the easy way out…torture makes you wish that you were dead.
The first recorded laws of the controversial death penalty were founded. The centuries progressed with the executions within the capital punishment developing from hangings into guillotines—just as the constricting roping of noose snaps your neck as you descend with gravity or the quickened pace of the blade’s vertical drop severs your head from your body with a decapitation, you are instantly introduced to a quick and painless death; you would suffer more with a trip to the modern-day dentist.
The techniques of gas chambers and electric chairs and lethal injections were sentenced to the criminal bastards in the twentieth century—after a crime of extreme vulgarity was committed, the captured prisoner would be rewarded with a departure from this hellhole of which we live in. The criminals feel absolutely nothing and are unaware of all punishment that was presented to them, and then the methods of execution developed into more humane procedures for the comfort of the prisoner; hell, once their life escapes from their body, they don’t even know that they’re dead.
The government becomes aware of one of the most viciously malicious crimes since the Hi-Fi murders of 1974…two teenage girls of seventeen years old were murdered. After their brutal violation of sexual assault, their bodies were found with their heads cracked open and skulls pried apart with their brains leaking from the cavities of their heads…the brain matter seeped from their nostrils and ear canals and created a horrific solution within the flowing blood.
Multiple reels of steel wool were forced down their throats and autopsied to reveal that they each had a severely torn esophagus in addition to the sharpened fibers impaling their stomachs and piercing their livers and intestines. Multiple lines of electrically stimulated metal wire of which were stripped from their rubber insulators were infused within their flesh and appeared as thickened veins within their arms; the wires were connected to a power transformer that was situated outside of the crime scene.
Their naked bodies were found with a deeply whitened tone of flesh as their entire blood supplies were spilled upon the floor of which they laid…their bones were protruding from their mangled limbs with the joints bent and twisted in their opposing directions. An arm had been severed from one victim and a leg had been severed from the other—the limbs were literally pulled from their sockets and had ripped the skin and bone apart from each other.
Who had been even more fucked up than Dale Pierre and William Andrews? Thirty years later, it was Bradley Cunningham. He committed the dual murders alone—he was so fucking sick that it would have been difficult for him to find an equally sick partner. Perhaps if he had a proper getaway due to an assisting accomplice he would be in the absence of the government’s custody.
Name: Dale Pierre
Conviction: First-Degree Murder
Name: William Andrews
Conviction: First-Degree Murder
Name: Bradley Cunningham
Conviction: First-Degree Murder
Bradley Cunningham and his disgustingly cruel commitment remained classified—it was presumed that the public had no desire to vomit as they watched their late-night news broadcast. And therefore the events of the two innocent teenagers were secretive due to its extensive violence, and this extensive violence was the result of the government’s pending project of torture.
…torture is worse than death, and it was agreed that Bradley Cunningham deserved a sentence of which was worse than death.
The torturer briefed Bradley: “You will be restrained in this chair,” and he forcefully seated the criminal into a metallic throne — the arm and leg rests presented cuffs of which clutched his wrists and ankles. “And you will not eat or drink or use the restroom—these tubes will take care of that,” and several assistants began inserting multiple strands of transparent tubing directly into his stomach. There were several scalpels that swiped across his abdomen and the catheters fought against the escaping blood as they became mutual with his digestive system.
Bradley Cunningham cried in excruciating pain as the catheters were situated beneath his flesh and the torturer smirked at his expressions, “You fucking pussy,” for Bradley’s current state of critical condition was of absolutely no comparison to his future of torture. “Your first session starts now,” and the torturer produced a knife.
The torturer thrust the blade into Bradley’s kneecap. An immediate spouting of blood erupted and the knife progressed into removing the jointed cartilage. And then the other kneecap was attacked by the six inches of steel—the hacking and stabbing caused the blade to collide with the corroding bones and scrape itself into the marrow until both of Bradley Cunningham’s kneecaps were entirely obliterated.
The knife progressed into one of Bradley’s shoulders with a piercing of additional pain. His shoulder was eventually converted into a fleshless collarbone with his muscles strewn across the chamber. The slightest touch of the traumatized areas presented Bradley with indescribable pain and agony—it felt as if Lucifer himself was gnawing upon his bones with a ravenous appetite. Bradley Cunningham’s tortured nerves presented screams of which were so loud that the torturer’s performance was occasionally paused so he could clap his hands over his ears.
The second session of Bradley’s torture was accompanied by the torturer’s briefcase of implements: pliers, spreaders, and an etcetera of what could only be described as hell’s silverware. The spreaders were forced into Bradley’s oral cavity and nearly pried his jaw off its hinges as they locked themselves into place—the open mouth presented nothing more than extreme vibrations of his tongue and uvula and the screams continued to erupt from his vocal cords.
The pliers began to slowly remove Bradley’s teeth; the strengthened grip of the pliers’ serrated ridges clamped upon the enamel and forced its fracture until the dentin was contacted. Then the tooth would be aggressively pulled from Bradley’s gums as the crown was developed into an emerging root that separated the nerves and blood vessels from the root end opening. The process was repeated thirty-one more times—all equally as excruciating.
Bradley Cunningham’s teeth were removed from his mouth and were nearly shattered from the force of the pliers—the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t pay a penny for them. His gums were bloody and torn as the flesh hung loose within his screaming mouth that only grew louder as the torturer released the force of the spreaders. Before the session concluded, the torturer was determined to lower the volume of the victim’s screaming—multiple razors were placed within his profusely bleeding mouth and were sealed within his oral cavity with a sheet of duct tape.
Bradley Cunningham remained within his torture chamber and awaited the morrow for his next session of hell. The tubes supplied his suffering body with the essential nutrients for survival and the pissing and shitting within his pants flowed down the additional catheters as they became vanquished from his anatomy. He had not slept since his arrival within the torture chamber—his pain would not allow him to feel the comfort of sleep; it was now essentially impossible for him to possess the characteristic of tiredness.
The duct tape remained bonded upon Bradley’s mouth regardless of the lubricating blood of which was smeared upon his face. His screams had miraculously been silenced as he was careful not to let the razors devour what was left of his gums in addition to his tongue and cheeks; however, the feelings of hell had not even moderately subsided.
Bradley Cunningham’s mind flashbacked with the events of which brought him here…those two young and beautiful teenagers; not only was it a helluva good time to fuck them, but it was a performance of his most violent crime to date—the most violent crime to date—and had also been so appealing to him and his fucked up mind of malicious cruelty. Was it worth it? Fuck no.
The sessions of torture continued—a duct taped mouthful of razors was ideal for the screams’ departure. And then the torturer's latest technique of torture: brass knuckles. The knuckledusters were grasped in each of the torturer’s hands and one forceful blow after another was presented to the jaw of Bradley Cunningham.
There were no more teeth to be evacuated from Bradley’s mouth, but the razors viciously ransacked the sensitive flesh. His head would violently jerk to the left and right with every impoundment of the handheld weapons of steel, and eventually a razor pierced itself through the thin flesh of Bradley’s cheek; another razor was lodged deep within his trachea with every muffled cough of blood only implanting its edges deeper into his flesh.
And then the final contact of the brass knuckles against Bradley’s jaw was achieved and the sheet of duct tape was abolished from upon his mouth. The blow had created so much force that its adhesive had lost its static friction against his bloody and dampened cheeks and the remaining razors were expelled from Bradley’s mouth with streams of blood following the blades like confetti.
The screams returned with echoing vibrations that occupied the concealed chamber and the stress of the torturer returned as the sound waves massacred his eardrums.
“Shut the fuck up!” and the brass knuckles were removed and the pair of pliers were wielded again. The torturer clamped the pliers onto Bradley’s squirming tongue and squeezed its handles with the aggression and determination of acquiring a good grip. And then the pliers were pulled as the tongue began to slowly and painfully depart itself from Bradley Cunningham’s mouth.
The microscopic mounds of flesh upon the back of the tongue began to tear from the back of Bradley’s throat—the roots of the tongue stretched until there was a rubbery snap and the muscle had become loose. His tonsils were also painfully ripped out along with his tongue and the streams of severed flesh and muscle were forcefully dismissed from his oral cavity. The severed tongue remained grasped between the pliers’ by its apex and median with dangling strings of Bradley Cunningham’s throat and tonsils, all dripping in streams of pouring and flowing blood.
The government was unaware of how long their procedure of torture would continue its infliction, but they were certain of its success. Bradley Cunningham was now incapable of verbal audio due to the absence of his teeth and tongue, but he was pleading within his mind please…kill me, and the request was repeatedly established within his mentality. But he didn’t deserve death…a deserved punishment of which was worse than death had been genuinely developed—although it remained classified, it was widely used for all of the proceeding sick motherfuckers who deserved torture.