A gruesome tale-Chapter two

The American squeezed his eyes shut and cried as he bit down. His eyes opened, watery with tears. He checked the timer, it read three minutes. He cried out again, but the sound never came out. He breathed in heavily through his nose and squeezed his eyes again. He counted in his head. One, Two, Three, He forced himself to bite down, the pain was immense and it shot through his body like fire and lightning. He did not let up on the pressure, and he felt his teeth connect.
“PAAAAAAAAHHHH” He screamed as he saw the end of his tongue slide down his chest in a stream of blood. His body wracked with the intense agony and he thrashed around on the grill, screaming like a demented banshee.
A beeping sounded and, although it was soft, it grabbed his attention as if someone had grabbed his balls and shoved a hot poker into him.
The clock read sixty seconds.
He thrust his head forwards towards the wire in front of him but it kept slipping out of his mouth due to the blood still flowing from the hideous remains of his tongue. At last he got a grip on the wire and he gnashed into it with is front incisors, the process was painfully long, there were fifteen seconds left. He desperately chewed at the wire and felt a few intertwining metal parts split, eight seconds, a few more gave way. Four seconds, and another. Two seconds left, and the wire fell apart.
He stared around the room, panting and aching from the muscle pains, caused by the efforts of trying to bite through the wire. A well concealed door slid open with a hiss and a hooded figure walked in, brandishing a hunting knife. He walked so slowly, taunting him.
“No… I did it, you have to let me go!” He said, almost incoherently. The figure stopped over him. It waited for a few seconds, the knife poised to thrust into his heart. The American begged for his life more. The knife was thrust downwards, but instead of feeling a searing pain, the knots on his left arm came free, the rest following the left arms example. The figure walked out quickly, leaving the door wide open. He stared at himself in disbelief, rubbing the sore patches. He realised that the blood flowing from his mouth had ceased and he rolled off the grill. He slipped on the petrol soaked floor, but made his way to the door on his hands and knees. He cried as he left the room, staggering around. Following the exit signs, not lay by the hooded man, but built into the walls. As he made his way down several flights of stairs, He wondered where the hell he was.
A few flights of stairs later, he burst through a large heavy door into blinding sunlight, He looked around, and saw that he was in the old abandoned candy factory, close to route eighty-five. He knew where he was, and as he made his way to the road in the distance, he could not help but look back at the building as it grew smaller and smaller, eventually melting away from view as he reached the black, tarmac signs of civilisation. Jesus, he thought, I could do with a nice glass of vodka.
1