He woke up that night tied up, gagged, and shirtless in a dark, concrete room with one light hanging above him. His vision is blurry as he tries to get a grip on where he is. He looks down to see bruises and dried bloodstreams on his chest.
"About time you woke up," said a rough voice in the darkness.
Mark could do nothing but look around for the source. Suddenly, a tall, burly man slowly walks up from the distance. His features become more prominent in the light. He is wearing a swat-like bodysuit. His face is scarred from the right eyebrow down to his jawline, and he has no hair. Mark could do nothing as his body is still numb from the anesthetic. He breathes heavier.
"Did you not know that I would find you, Mr. Fischbach," rustled his voice.
Mark attempted to scream but all that was emitted was a mumble.
"What was that? You would like to talk? That's just too fucking bad."
The man circles around Mark touching the wounds on his face and arms. They burn and throb. Mark tries to loosen his bonds but they seem to get tighter.
"Silly Mark. Did you think that I'd make it easy? You're probably wondering who I am. My name is Blade."
What a name that was. If this were a videogame, Mark would have busted out laughing at a villain's name like that. However, this was no laughing matter. This was anything but.
"Shall we get started?"
Blade calls his henchmen to bring in the "toolbox." A cart is nudged on Mark's side and his eyes widen and his body trembles. There were tools of torture on the cart, and Mark knew everyone was for him.
