Reference the last 1/3 of 1984. In the same way, create a tragic type of story where one character is brainwashed into something else. Also, I have choose your own story I'm writing.

I have a girl perspective (or female type of character) and a male perspective (or male representing)

From there, you can choose is the other character lives or dies.

My eyes dart around the room and I realize that I’m covered in blood. I can’t tell if it’s mine or not. The redness stains my fingertips. Across the dark room, I can barely make out Austin. He’s crumpled in a corner, surrounded by blood. My body jolts with adrenaline when I see that he's been beaten. They must have given me too much of whatever it was, but they perfected the dose for him. I slowly realize that we both have no clothes on- not even a scrap. His blond hair is a sick pink from the blood and his body is tomato red from inflammation. His back is covered in a patchwork of lashes and his knee looks dislocated. I scramble to fight my way out of the restraints, but I can’t. Perhaps the worst torture is seeing my best friend hurting and not being able to help.

I spin my head around, looking for someone, something to help me. I’m not sure for what exactly, but something. Wait! Earlier, I had a bobby pin in my hair when Austin and I were walking down the avenues of Dallas. I try to remember where it was, and then I remember. We had been sitting at a fro-yo shop and it had started slipping from the wind. Austin had gently reached up and pulled it out for me so I could fix it. I can’t remember that now. It will only break my heart further. That day filled with kisses and strawberry sorbet seems like forever ago. I shake my head to force the thought out, and I feel a poke on the crown of my head. Somehow, our captors were stupid enough to not check everywhere for items of value. I flail my hair over my shoulders and attempt to move that one bobby pin around. Perhaps that little scrap of bent metal could save me, save us.

The constant swinging of my head makes me more aware of my injuries. Something’s wrong with my hip and I can’t see out of one of my eyes. I almost faint at the sight of my wrist jutting out of my arm. I’m in more pain than I thought possible. I mentally say goodbye to all of my family, my friends, and everyone I can remember by name. If it was me alone, I might not have as much fight to escape as I do right now. The sight of my best friend lying on the cold concrete in a heap scares me so much that I scramble even faster to get my stupid bobby pin out. I shake and I shake and I shake my head until I finally hear a soft plop into my hand. I realize that I look like a kid shaking water out of their ears after a relaxing swim. Focus!, I tell myself.

Even the bobby pin’s been through the ringer. It’s bent, but it will have to do. I shove myself down in the steel grey chair around the chest strap to bite part of the bobby pin. I put my teeth in between the two prongs and wedge the thing apart. There! Now it looks like something I can actually use. I adjust my hold on the pin, and shove it in the makeshift handcuffs. The nubs on the end stab into my gums and I wince as I draw blood. *Crack* I freeze, expecting my captor to catch me trying to get free. I wait for a few seconds, both shivering and sweating from the adrenaline. Hopefully, they’re gone now. *Click* My hands are free, but now I have to free my chest and feet. The pin is slick with blood and I have to concentrate just to keep it from slipping out of my hands.

As I hopelessly scrape at the duct tape plastered across my chest, I hear a soft moan from Austin. Thank God! Now I 100 percent know he’s alive. The thought of him brings back the adrenaline. I feverishly attack the duct tape across my chest, trying harder than ever to reach my boyfriend. The sticky tape finally peels a little, and I use what little leverage I have to rip the tape off of my chest. I scream in agony, the pain makes me see red. When I lift the tape closer to my good eye, I am surprised to see that I haven't taken any skin off. Boy, does it feel like it though. I peer down my front only to see stripes matching Austin’s cascading down my ribs, stomach, and legs. I look further and see my blood soaked feet- That can’t all be my blood, can it? I quickly pluck the bobby pin I had somewhat clutched in my broken hand and unclick the apparatus holding my feet to the chair.

I leap out of the chair, keen on getting to Austin, but I stumble almost immediately. My head is foggy, and I feel lightheaded. I know I can’t walk, so I slither across the concrete, yelping every time my arm has to hit the ground. I crawl for what seems like forever, as if I am a baby learning to walk and my parent keep backing away. Finally, I reach Austin. I immediately spring into action, checking his pulse and temperature as best as I can. His heart beat is weak, but thrumming away so fast that it’s challenging for me to count seconds to tell his heart rate. I do my best to count to fifteen while counting the beats, and then I multiply by four. 178, wow. I have to get that down. I move to gently touch his temple, but I pull it away just as quickly. He’s burning up, and there’s pus oozing out of some of his wounds. Infection. God, I hope sepsis doesn’t start. I move to be as comfortable as possible, and lift Austin’s head into my lap. He moans, and I see those beautiful green eyes that I first fell in love with. “What happened? All I remember was darkness and you screaming. Are you ok?” I’m flabbergasted. The first thing he asks is if I’m ok. “I’m fine, Austin. We’re all in this together”. He smiles at my attempt to make light of the situation by bringing up his favorite musical.. He shifts and I see that he’s starting to take notice of his injuries. “You’re ok, baby. I don’t know how, but I’m gonna get you outta here.”