the first thing you're greeted with when you wake up, is the aching pain against your temple. from where slade had struck a devastating hard blow, knocking you not only onto your ass, but unconscious. your wrists were bound behind you with heavy duty, coarse rope that made your skin burn at the slightest squirm and your ankles were in a similar position; either tied to the legs of the chair.

your mask lay discarded on the ground— panic surging through you. your identity.

"you put up a good fight," slade's voice, cold and composed sounded from the depths of the warehouse, "but not. good. enough." his tongue clicks behind his mask, slowly, lazily meandering his way in front of you. "your friend's aren't here to save you, are they, young titan?"

he extends a hand out, firmly gripping your chin and forcing your gaze to stay locked onto his singular eye. "fear not. i have no means to kill you." his thumb pressed down harder against your skin, enough to cause an edge of pain, "not unless you give me one. i just want some information."