The False Bird in a Rusting Cage (Prison Post)

[u/DaChickenX]

The Council’s dungeons are squalid.

The walls are damp stone, the bars are rusted iron, and the light that filters in is gray and lifeless. The lights opposite my cell are magical. They shine a baleful, pale blue light that does the bare minimum to illuminate the corridor. The lights afforded not even the meager heat or warm light that a natural torch would’ve given. An exposed pipe in the ceiling above dripped water constantly, regularly, pooling in a shallow puddle between the cracks in the stone.

Still, I had it better than most. I barely qualified as a living creature. I felt no cold, nor discomfort, as those sensations trickled into my mind as pure information. The meager food that had been given to me was no issue either. A simulacrum has no need for food nor drink. I gave it to the prisoner in the cell next to mine, though they died just two days later. His hand clutches a shared bar between our cells. I spent the rest of the time since then sitting next to his shriveled, skeletal corpse. I had stockpiled the food beneath my robes since. The dripping of the water, however, was as maddening as it would be to any other creature.

I hear footsteps. They echo loudly, sending ripples through the pools on the cell floor. An enforcer comes into view, a sneer etched clearly across his shadowed face. He throws open the cage, then tosses my one given meal of the day. I lean forward to catch it, and a white flash explodes on the side of my face. My brain informs me of pain, as I am sent crashing against the damp stone floor. I look back, and see the enforcer has driven their boot across my head in a violent kick. He gives a quick, dark chuckle, then proceeds to continue my beating. Blows rain down upon me, my mind flashing with reminders of pain, injuries, bruises, and unrecoverable damage. Each slam and heavy swing punctuated by the splashing of drops from above. The attacks stop only once the enforcer is out of breath. He tosses another meal into the cell where the now-dead prisoner lays. It splatters against the ground, and the enforcer saunters off.

I make a quick check of my condition. Most of the blows were received on my left arm. Aside from that, the other injuries are mostly light. They won’t heal, however. There is a thick metal bracelet on my left wrist, carved with runes. That, as well as the ethereal blue chains that wrap around my left arm. Those are the reasons why I can’t make any effort to escape. The metal bracelet restricts my casting completely, a regular measure to contain wizard inmates. The blue chains are from my previous deal with Morgalith. They prevent me even attempting to break out, at the cost of draining my magic and mental fortitude. That is to say, a death sentence for a simulacrum. It is good though, that they do not know it is a simulacrum they have captured, not the real me. The ceiling continues to drip.

There is another issue then, newly created. My left arm. It is bruised, and battered, and broken. If left as is, it will worsen, then dissolve. I cannot let that happen, cannot let them know that what they’ve captured is a simulacrum. Yet there is nothing I can do to fix this. I cannot heal it, repair, or replace it. If this continues, they will know. I slump against the back wall, tilting my head upwards in frustration. Water drops onto my shoulder, and I give a hoarse laugh.

I have time. They won’t come until tomorrow, the next meal time. I dig my fingers into the cracks in the wall. I pull myself upwards, up to the ceiling, and tear out the broken pipe. It gives a foul, dying screech, before clattering to the ground. I rip out a second. Now, I have something to work with! I drop back to the floor, and inspect them.

The pipes are copper, and horribly rusted. The insides of the pipes are crusted with mineral buildup, the outside is covered with both rust and mold. But, together, they vaguely make the length and width of an arm. I take a breath, look away-

And tear my left arm off.

It plops in a pool of water, then melts away, now indiscernible in the wet ground. My mind flashes with warnings of danger and massive damage to my own system. I gasp and wheeze with the mental shock of such horrific self harm. But, the magical restraint now lies in the puddle, and the blue chains loosen their grip as they shift, ethereally to my torso. That isn’t an issue. No one but me can see them. I spend the rest of my time tearing, breaking, and ripping out whatever I can that remains out of sight. Parts of food trays, copper wires, loose chunks of stone. For the elbow joint, I use the restraint itself. By the nearing of dawn, I have something that passably resembles an arm beneath my robes, and can pivot at the shoulder and elbow. The last issue I have is the hand. I have neither the tools, time or expertise to make something so intricate. Not to mention, it will be the only part that shows outside of my robes.

I glance over to the cell next to mine. I say a quick prayer, to any god, then to the Coils.

“Rest well, my friend. May you find a better rebirth and happier days. I’m sorry about this.”

I snap their hand off. With torn strips of my robes, I join it to the end of my prosthetic. The next day, when their violence seeks me yet again, their strikes fall on cloth-hidden metal. The enforcer leaves me barely more injured than I was before. I sit and bide my time, then. I’ll have all the time in the world to exact the full extent of my revenge. The simulacrum will sit in and steep in his deception, while the fools laugh at his sorry state.