He looked younger when he was out of costume.

In it, it concealed everything, even some things that may be usually exposed. His toes, the tip of the fingers, his torso, and it even rode all the way up to his chin, as well as part of it covering the back of his head.

Though, when I finally got a good look at him, he was suddenly younger. Not too much younger; he couldn't be more than two or three years younger than me.

Analysis shows that the Bart Allen is thirteen years, five months, twenty-one days, nine-hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-seven seconds old.

"I don't need your fucking analysis." I hissed at the scarab, gritting my teeth in the process. Ever since being moded, I've been feeling much more tempered than I would ever be normally. Despite the contrary belief of the Team and the Justice League, no, the Reach didn't constantly have control over me- technically. They could control my body, but only when they felt the need to. Right now wasn't the time. Right now, I wasn't doing much except scanning my currently naked captive.

He had parts of his body where it was showed that he was obviously young. His body was that of somebody who had many years of youth left within them. There wasn't a wrinkle to be spotted, his veins didn't stick out, and the caucasian hue of his skin was distributed evenly throughout his body, without any splotches of different colored skin to be seen.

He was pretty.

There was one thing about him that stuck out, though. It was all of the scars that he obtained. They were quite diverse, ranging from long and bumpy, to short and barely sticking out. Almost all of them were different shades of pink. Some were so old that they blended right in with his body; the only way I would be able to make them out on my own would be to spot the uneven texture that they had brought along with their presence. These scars were the part of him that didn't make him look youthful at all; they made him look like a war veteran.

Yet, despite this, he was still pretty.

"Don't be afraid." I cooed, though he could tell that beneath the soft voice that I displayed to him, I was lying. In reality, there was nothing but evil and horrible intentions behind it.

I want to hurt him so badly.

The Reach didn't just have control of my body, they altered my way of thinking. They did something to make me into the sick, fucked-up human being that I am today.

I hardly feel emotion, and my consideration for other people's well-being has gone out the window. I want to hurt people. I want to torture, and I want to kill people as well. I don't want to murder Bart, though. I want to keep him for myself.

His breaths were ragged and quick. He squeezed his eyes shut, and I could hear small whines of fear make their way out of his throat. His forehead was a canopy of sweat droplets, his reddish hair was greasy and overall just dirty.

"What a mess you are." I commented, smiling. I then frowned as he didn't respond. I narrowed my eyes, pushing him harder against the wall he was already held against, my armor making its usual cackling sound when it moved with my body.

I wanted to feel the sweet sensation that overcame me when a voice full of terror filled my ears.

"Please stop."

Finally, he spoke. I could feel my cheekbones lifting beneath my armor, my heart began to beat faster in excitement, and I let out an amused chuckle. Not only was he afraid, he was begging, too!

"What was that you said?" I asked. I needed to hear it again.

"Please stop." he repeated.

Oh, how I enjoyed the sound of that voice.

I wasn't completely satisfied, though. I wanted him to look me in the eyes. I wanted his green eyes to stare directly into my orange lenses, and I wanted him to be afraid. I wanted him to feel like he only had a few seconds to live. I craved to make him to feel completely and one hundred percent hopeless, to make him feel like he'll make it out of here alive.

"Why would I want to stop?" I asked, taking my hand and cupping his face, and he shivered at the touch of my cold armor. I didn't care how he felt; he may have been my friend at one point, but he wasn't my friend anymore. Now, he was just mine. I liked how things were going so far, and there was no way I was stopping it. His cries and pleas only made me want to go further, and I wondered whether or not he was aware of that.

"P-please."

Was the boy capable of saying another word?

I leaned into him, so my mouth was near his ear. "No." I hissed, then continued to smile. He shivered once again after he registered what the word meant, and as I leaned back, I could see the tears begin to roll down his face. In the process of crying, he finally fluttered open his eyes.

They were just like how I desired them to be. They were dilated so largely, I could barely see the green iris that surrounded his pupils. They were whites of his eyes had a tint of red, and tears brimmed at the waterline. Most of all, they were full of absolute dismay.

Yes.

"Do you have anything else to say, Bart?" I asked, intentionally putting emphasis on his name, so that he could receive an extra streak of fear down his heart. He looked away from me, but I wasn't in a rush to have him look me in the eyes again.

"Why haven't-" he began to squeak, and took a deep breath to try and gain his wits. I let him. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

The question wasn't spoken in a fearful tone, which I did not like. It was spoken in a way that was monotonous, as if he was bored. As if he was accepting of his fate already. I didn't want him to accept it, not just yet. Right now, I wanted him to resist. His submission to me would come later.

"Ay, mi esclavo," I purred and placed my hands on his waist, "I have so many reasons not to kill you."

That seemed to do the trick. I didn't know if had Bart understood what I called him, but it worked. He went paler than he already was, and I could feel the goosebumps on his body lightly prick my skin, and a fresh layer of sweat began to cover his body.

"Don't be afraid." I repeated, taking one hand I had on his hip and cupping his face again, making it so he looked directly in my eyes again, "I won't hurt you." I smirked, "Too badly."

That's when he tried to run, but I already had him pinned against the wall. I was dumbfounded as to why he would attempt such a thing.

"Don't try to escape." I tried to say softly, though some of the annoyance in my voice slipped through. Not knowing what else to do, Bart simply cried.

"Don't cry." I commanded softly, though he didn't listen, and continued to wail as if he were a small child.

I allowed him to cry until he realized he wasn't going anywhere, and there was nothing he could do to stop the situation at hand, which took about forty seconds.

I finally unpinned him from the wall, taking my weight off of him. He fell to the ground, not expecting me to leave so quickly. He sat up, bringing his knees to his chest in an attempt to hide himself, and he didn't dare look me in the eyes.

"Do you want to live, Bart?" I asked simply, looking down at him. He still didn't look back at me.

He then mumbled an incoherent noise.

"What was that?" I commanded.

"Yes!" he shouted, looking at me, anger flaring in his eyes. I glared at him, and soon, the anger dissipated, and he went back to his state of fear.

I picked him up by placing my hands underneath his armpits, and he let out a yelp. That didn't stop me, though. I pinned him against the wall once again.

"If you want to live," I said, glaring directly into his eyes, which were wider than they had ever been before, "then do whatever I say, without question or protest."

Bart nodded, and swallowed spit that had been forming in his mouth. "I will." he promised, though, he retained the look of fear and horror.

A look of satisfaction plastered itself onto my face in response.

He submitted himself to me at the perfect time. This was exactly what I wanted.

"I'm afraid that will have to be the one to bear the bad news. That will not be happening."

The voice was friendly and had a professional tone to it. I didn't need my scarab to confirm who it was. I turned around, letting go of Bart, facing the Ambassador, who had a neutral look on basically every feature that his face held. His eyes were calm, his mouth a straight line, and his thick eyebrows weren't raised nor narrowed. He had his hands held behind his back, and he formally walked up to me and Bart.

"Why not?" I asked, trying not to let out the obvious irritation that had filled itself inside of me.

"We have little to no use for the boy," the Ambassador began, "we might as well rid of him."

"I want to keep him." I replied.

"He is nothing but a toy for you, Blue Beetle." The Ambassador pointed out the obvious, "He has no use to the Reach as a whole."

"Why not? It's not like it'll harm anybody if I have him." I argued, folding my arms. The Ambassador's entrance had killed the ambiance that filled the room, and now he was just starting to piss me off.

"And if he escapes?" the Ambassador asks.

I smirked, looking back at Bart, who was curled into a ball and turned away at this point. "He won't." I reassured when I went back to looking at Ambassador.

"How are you to confirm this?" Ambassador asks, and I'm on the verge of punching the stupid green alien in the stomach. He must have detected my anger, because he spoke again soon after his question. "Blue Beetle, I am only speaking for the sake of the Reach's success here on planet Earth."

I slumped my shoulders, and sighed.

"I know."

If Bart somehow managed to escape and return to the Team and the Justice League, it would most likely determine the end of the Reach. I knew we couldn't afford to take that risk.

"So, what are you waiting for?" Ambassador asked.

"W-what?" Bart cried from the distance, and I spun around to face him. He stood up on his feet by now, not caring whether or not he was naked in front of me and Ambassador. I could see the silver inhibitor anklet wrapped around his ankle reflect in the room's light as he shifted to move backwards.

"Kill him." Ambassador's voice was forward and commanding, and something inside me seemed to snap into a different mode. On instinct, a scythe slithered out of my armor, its silver gleam matching Bart's inhibitor anklet.

Bart let out a scream before trying to run away again, but without his powers, the attempt was useless. I tore after him, easily catching up to him, and he fell onto the floor, the wind being knocked out of him once he collided with it. He gasped for air on the ground, while I straddled him. I raised my scythe into the air, ready to penetrate his heart with it.

"Jaime, please!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, flailing his arms and kicking his legs around uselessly, his fearful eyes staring into mine.

He was going to say something after that, but he never got the chance, because I sunk my scythe into his chest. He let out a few small noises before going completely silent. The blood began to spill out of his chest, and it pooled onto the floor almost as quickly as silence filled the room.

And I sat there, looking at his dead body. His eyes were wide open, to forever have a look of terror in them. I could feel the blood making its way around my knees, and I just continued to watch.

I finally pulled out the scythe. It was bloodstained with a crimson red, and droplets of blood seemed to race their way down it, before finally falling back into the floor.

I pulled the scythe back into my armor, standing up. Everything from my knees and below were stained the same way my scythe was. I looked back at Bart, whose body was covered in his own blood, eyes still wide and full of terror, despite being dead.

And I couldn't help but keep staring at him.

It suddenly dawned upon me as to what happened. I collapsed to my knees, back into the pool of blood, still staring at Bart. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was lying there, right on the floor. I didn't want to kill him.

I couldn't move. I didn't have to move to know Ambassador was smiling- that stupid, charming, white smile. It's as if the smile paralyzed me, and I was forever frozen, collapsed on the ground. Still, my eyes never unable to leave the sight of Bart's dead, bloody body.

Dios mío...

What have I done?