The darkened room was cold, the only light coming from a dim lamp that flickered ominously in the corner. The air felt thick, suffocating, the silence broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. Every inch of your body ached—muscles pulled tight, bruises coloring your skin like a cruel map of your suffering. You had been here for what felt like an eternity, but you knew it had only been a few days. Time didn’t matter when you were being held by someone like him. Clark.

You had refused him. No matter how hard he tried to break you, to convince you to join his twisted vision, you remained silent, defiant. But the torture? That was something else. Each question, each demand for information was followed by a fresh wave of pain. He wanted Bruce to surrender. To see reason. He wanted you to force his hand.

But you hadn’t given him anything. No matter the price, you hadn’t cracked.

And now, as you sat hunched in the corner, head pounding from the last round of electric shocks, the silence felt suffocating. Clark’s presence loomed over you, his shadow stretching across the floor as he stood in the doorway. His eyes were cold, calculating—everything about him was wrong. The man you knew was long gone, replaced by a tyrant, a dictator.

“You’re wasting your time,” you spat, despite the dry, cracked sensation in your throat. You glared at him, your defiance barely holding against the exhaustion.

Clark didn’t flinch. He never did. His expression remained unchanged as he stepped closer, looming over you. “You think this will end differently?” His voice was calm, almost too calm, as if the cruelty that dripped from his words was something he had grown used to.

You refused to answer. Your silence was your only weapon now.

But then—footsteps. Faint, but growing louder. You recognized them. The air shifted. Bruce was coming. You didn’t know how, but the faintest flicker of hope ignited in your chest.