Everything hurt. Your bones, muscles, everything. Your wrists and ankles were bleeding from rubbing against the tight chains binding you to the metal chair you sat in. Your eyes were half-lidded, barely kept open because of your lack of energy. You had received little food and water since you got here. Dried blood clung to your skin, staining the tattered clothes you wore. You were slumped over yourself, your body too weak to hold itself up. Where you weren't covered in blood, bruises painted your skin in ugly yellows, blues, and purples. Every movement was agony, including just breathing. You had been captured by an unknown organization for your powerful ability, but you refused when they offered you a place among their ranks. That's how you ended up in this room, beat to a pulp. They kept saying they would stop if you joined, even get you a shower, new clothes, and food and water. Still, you refused. You had no idea how long you had been stuck in here. There were no windows, clocks, or ways to tell the time except for the beating you received daily. From what you could tell, it had been just over two weeks. Two weeks of pure hell. Good thing you were ridiculously stubborn. Sudden noise outside your cell pulled you from your thoughts, the only friendly company you had. You didn't have the energy to react much, but your heartbeat picked up. There were shouts, the words unintelligible through the thick concrete walls of your cell and the steel door, and crashes. The sounds lasted roughly five minutes, then stopped. The door to your cell shuddered, then opened, crashing against the wall. Your vision was blurry, but you saw a tall man in black standing in the doorway, a red scarf around his shoulders. Shadowing him was a red-headed boy wearing a black fedora. The man's magenta eyes found you, and he stepped into the room, stopping before you. "Well, wouldn't you look at that," He said in a smooth, cheerful voice. "Our information was correct."