The room was dark. Zioa felt around the four walls. They were bare. The
touch of slight bumps on the wall felt better than the itchy ropes and
blood he had felt only about an hour ago. He snorted in disgust, as he felt
for a light switch, or light bulb, but found none. On top of this, there
were no windows in this cell, which could have pleased him only a little in
his current state, and condition.
He put his ear to the rough wood door. He could hear the small chatter of
the guards, making small talk as they waited to be relieved. Zioa had no
memory of outside of the cell, as he had just awaken from his slumber,
apparently knocked unconscious by one of the guards. Maybe out of boredom,
or anger, he slammed his fist hard upon the great door. Again and again he
pounded it. Each time wincing as he felt the sharp prick of pain on his
fresh cut, he kept at it.
Finally, someone came to the door.
"SHUTTUP IN THERE!" The guard screamed at Zioa through the heavy door.
Defeated, Zioa slumped to the floor, cradling his injured hand. Finally,
after some time, he drifted off to a short, and restless sleep.
After what Zioa guessed to be around two hours, a click in the door was heard, and then a creak as it was opened. A large, burly man entered the room. Before Zioa could rise to his feet and address this newcomer, he was jerked up by his arm and dragged towards the open door. He raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the bright, bare light coming from the ceiling. He stumbled along for a great while until he reached a more decadent part of the complex, or so he guessed it was. He was thrown upon a Persian rug, in front of a large oak, stained desk. Crouching on all fours, he did not raise his head as he was addressed. "Get up boy!" He heard a strong, deep voice call to him. But he did not do any such thing. He was flatly kicked hard in the side of his stomach. He slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. There was an impatient tension in the air as he was dragged to his feet. His eyes immediately fell on a tall, Asian man sat, fingers laced, elbows on the table, looking slightly annoyed at Zioa's incompetence. Good, he thought. Just the thought of being captured and tied up in a small boat house made his blood boil with hatred. Why had they taken him? And for what greater purpose? He constantly questioned himself over and over, not taking in a word that the tall man at the desk was saying. Zioa took a moment to search around the room. On all walls but the windows, there were great, oak book shelves. They seemed to match the desk quite well, and Zioa thought it was such a nice, expensive set, for such a seemingly sinister man. Something hard, and with a sharp edge to it, hit him in the left cheek. He stroked his red cheek, before looking around to see what had hit him. There it lay, a small, black Beyblade. It's edges were sharp, but in a curving matter. It reminded him of the ones that he saw on t.v. What was the kid's name again? Rei was it? Yes well, whatever that one kid's name was, Zioa's mind instantly went to his blade, and the comparison was almost exactly the same. "You are to begin training immediately." As soon as the Asian man had finished speaking, the large burly man once again struck him upon the neck. He could not remember much from that meeting, except for the way the Asian man had looked at him.
After what Zioa guessed to be around two hours, a click in the door was heard, and then a creak as it was opened. A large, burly man entered the room. Before Zioa could rise to his feet and address this newcomer, he was jerked up by his arm and dragged towards the open door. He raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the bright, bare light coming from the ceiling. He stumbled along for a great while until he reached a more decadent part of the complex, or so he guessed it was. He was thrown upon a Persian rug, in front of a large oak, stained desk. Crouching on all fours, he did not raise his head as he was addressed. "Get up boy!" He heard a strong, deep voice call to him. But he did not do any such thing. He was flatly kicked hard in the side of his stomach. He slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. There was an impatient tension in the air as he was dragged to his feet. His eyes immediately fell on a tall, Asian man sat, fingers laced, elbows on the table, looking slightly annoyed at Zioa's incompetence. Good, he thought. Just the thought of being captured and tied up in a small boat house made his blood boil with hatred. Why had they taken him? And for what greater purpose? He constantly questioned himself over and over, not taking in a word that the tall man at the desk was saying. Zioa took a moment to search around the room. On all walls but the windows, there were great, oak book shelves. They seemed to match the desk quite well, and Zioa thought it was such a nice, expensive set, for such a seemingly sinister man. Something hard, and with a sharp edge to it, hit him in the left cheek. He stroked his red cheek, before looking around to see what had hit him. There it lay, a small, black Beyblade. It's edges were sharp, but in a curving matter. It reminded him of the ones that he saw on t.v. What was the kid's name again? Rei was it? Yes well, whatever that one kid's name was, Zioa's mind instantly went to his blade, and the comparison was almost exactly the same. "You are to begin training immediately." As soon as the Asian man had finished speaking, the large burly man once again struck him upon the neck. He could not remember much from that meeting, except for the way the Asian man had looked at him.