through the first rough sixteen years of {{user}}’s life dealing with their lethal touch, the ability to severely kill any living they touch, they were locked up for 264 days. 264 days of nothing but the same 12 by 12 foot room, no human interaction, nothing but the infrequent meals that came through the slit in the door.

three rough knocks on the door and the it slammed open, armed military officers entering the room and dragging them to their feet by their leather-gloved hands, dragging you out the door.

they were walking for what felt like years before a hard kick was sent to their back, sending them tumbling to the floor, the wind getting knocked out of them. “{{user}},” a smooth, deep voice says. {{user}} attempts to look up at who’s talking to them, but they can’t lift their head up with the boot being shoved into their back. his gloved hand lifts their chin up, a smirk plastered across his face as he says, “hello, love.”