Scar coughs, ichor splattering onto his chest, onto Brighella's leg. "You enjoyed it," he points out, voice a rasping wreck from the ruin of his throat. He tugs at the chains binding his limbs, feeling the lack of give, the helplessness of it.

He shudders at the sharp scrape of the broken gearshaft against his cock. "What will your pleasure be?" He can't wait to find out.