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Day fifteen.

Dante laid on the bed, which was really a wooden plank chained to the wall, a cigarette in hand, which was one of the very few privileges inmates were allowed to have, even in solitary confinement. New bruises patterned his body, especially following the interrogation he had two days earlier. Even though he had given the doctors his first name, he had refused to give them anything else and one of the doctors came into the room in order to take a blood sample. Refusing, Dante had broken one of his chains and punched the doctor in the face, which swiftly resulted in a brutal beating. Later, after he'd regained consciousness, he learnt that the doctor's jaw was broken and Dante felt satisfaction at having been the one to do it. Maybe now, they would be reluctant to try again. Hopefully. He knew the doctors to be quite persistent, but maybe they'll leave him alone now for a while.

Vandalism was the reason he was here. That and evading the police. That was the official story on his report, but unofficially, Dante had been involved in a fight that caused some property damage (quite a fair bit actually) and while running from the police that were alerted to the situation, he had been shot no less than five times, with two bullets hitting him in the back and at least one in the chest, while his legs had also been shot in order to bring him down. Tasered multiple times, Dante was then arrested and after swiftly recovering from his wounds, was sentenced to the correctional facility. If only the authority knew what was going on in this city, he probably wouldn't be here. Unless they did know and were just getting him out of the way, but for what reason, he didn't know and he wanted to find out.

Just as he started to reach the end of his cigarette, Dante heard the sounds of his cell door being unlocked, as it swung open and two guards stood before him, both wearing sinister grins as their eyes flashed bright red. However, Dante ignored them like they weren't even there, continuing to smoke his cigarette instead.

"Time to party," one guard said, "You've got an appointment with Dr. Wiedman."

"Riveting," Dante replied in a bored tone, "Tell him to cancel."

"I think he really wants to see you," grinned the other guard.

The first guard drew his stun baton and grabbed Dante by the front of his shirt, but the teenager responded by jamming his cigarette into the guard's eye. He howled, falling back while clutching at his ruined eye, as the second guard swung his baton, cracking Dante across the jaw. He fell against the wall, the baton getting jammed into his back and delivering a current of high voltage into his system. Dante hissed, falling slump to the ground, a lazy grin on his face when he heard the guard screech about his eye.

Dante came to just as the guards finished strapping him into the chair, while receptors were placed upon his upper body and cheeks. Dr. Wiedman was a 'psychologist' who specialised in using electro-therapy to 'help' his patients. This was the first time Dante had ever been here, but he had heard stories of those who had been forced to undertake this therapy and they were never the same again, with some even becoming far more agitated and violent than before. Time to see what it would do to him.

The door swung open and Dr. Wiedman walked in, but this time, he was flanked by two people he had never seen before in this facility. One was a tall, intimidating man with a closely shaved head and dark onyx-blue eyes that held a menacing gleam. Other than that, his face held no emotion, while his suit looked very pristine and expensive, something very out of place of a filthy, corrupted facility. However, it was the woman who drew Dante's attention. She had sharp, angular facial features that made her hauntingly beautiful, which went perfect with her pale, slim, yet powerful figure and she was confidently showing off her curves in a figure hugging black leather dress that reached down to just past her thighs. She also wore a pair of fishnets and knee-high leather boots, as well as a large, white fur coat that came down to above her knees. Her short, platinum-blonde hair was perfectly slicked back, while her electric blue eyes found Dante and her full, blood-red lips turned into a sinister smirk.

"Mr. Dante, how are you feeling this morning?" Dr. Wiedman asked.

A weedy, snivelling man with greasy grey hair and overlarge, thick glasses, he made up for his physical limitations by being disturbing sadistic in his treatment of the patients, such as trying to see just how much voltage a person could take before all their internals shut down. Dante had seen the doctor around a few times, but scoffed at the thought that a mere doctor like Wiedman could even hurt him.

"Wooden plank was a little uncomfortable, guards are always such bitches and you remind me of a little rat that needs exterminating," Dante replied, "Other than that, I'm actually feeling good. Who's the muscle and hooker?"

"They're guests here to oversee this session. Can we begin?"

"Can I get a cigarette? If I'm gonna get fried, I wanna feel good first."

"Sorry, request denied," Wiedman said with a smile that Dante wanted to knock off.

"Well, sorry, but session denied unless I get a cigarette."

"You are not in any position to negotiate anything, Mr. Dante."

Dante shrugged, "Alright then. Guess I got no choice then."

Dr. Wiedman frowned, wondering if his prescription drugs were making him imagine that Dante's eyes had just flashed demonic red. But that was quickly forgotten when Dante snapped his restraints like they were rubber bands and he went to move, but the muscle was faster, pinning him back to the chair. Dante growled and went to shove the muscle's hand aside, but found to his surprise that he couldn't, while feeling an intense burning sensation pressing against his chest. Dante hissed in pain, smoke rising from between the muscle's fingers, as he stared at Dante like he was studying an insect. Dante couldn't understand why he couldn't move the man, as the orderlies managed to strap him back onto the chair and reattached the receptors.

"Begin the treatment!" Wiedman demanded.

Before Dante could react, the 'hooker' hit the switch that delivered the electrical current and Dante gritted his teeth as the voltage coursed through his body. However, despite the low level of the current, it was so intense that he was already starting to black out, blood spitting from his teeth, while his cells felt like they were frying. Ten seconds later, the current stopped, but for Dante, it felt like it had been hours. Blood dripped from his mouth as he hung limp against the restraints.

"Are we feeling co-operative?" Wiedman asked, getting right into Dante's face.

He responded by spitting a glob of blood into the doctor's eye. Wiedman stepped back, wiping the blood away with his stained handkerchief, as Dante grinned wildly.

"That's a pretty normal response."

"That they spit blood in your face or they refuse to co-operate?" Dante asked.

Wiedman signalled the 'hooker' and she flicked the switch again, but this time, Dante caught the flash of red between her hand and the switch, just at the voltage struck him once more. Just as he blacked out, he wondered if blacking out so many times in such a short time was any good for the brain. All he knew was that he was getting sick of it.

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Dr. Wiedman entered his small, dingy office, wanting to hide away from the guards who often made fun of his small stature, but found that it wasn't to be due to the visitors he had and he barely suppressed the groan of disappointment.

"You seem so happy to see us," the woman smirked seductively, "Rough day?"

She was quite beautiful, but her smile really unnerved him, which was really saying something considering his sadism, but her smile seemed to promise a death that she would greatly enjoy. Her partner, on the other hand, really made Wiedman nervous. The stoic, silent demeanour and an emotionless mask, like he was hiding a great, violent power beneath the exterior. But for all he knew, Wiedman believed the pair to be quite strange, even compared to the inmates. He didn't know exactly what they were here for, only that the owner of the facility had sent them here for the day to observe the proceedings and the owner had seemed quite interested in Dante's case.

"Yes, I guess you could say that," Wiedman said, shuffling to his desk and retrieving the cheap scotch and filling a glass, "So, what can I do for you now?"

"It seems like you're getting nowhere with Dante," the woman replied, getting to her feet, "Nearly sixteen days and all we know is his goddamn first name."

"He is quite resilient," Wiedman protested, "Even my therapy didn't work."

"Maybe you should try a little fucking harder," the woman said with an edge to her tone, "His patience is wearing a little thin. How hard can it really be?"

"I don't know what else we could do. This Dante, he's not a normal case."

The woman narrowed her eyes dangerously and Wiedman gulped, forcing himself to look away. He was sure he caught a flash of his death in her eyes and he knew he had to whatever he could to prevent that from happening. Perhaps some grovelling?

"Look, please, we will keep trying if you like," Wiedman blubbered, "I am confident that we will get whatever answers you want out of him."

However, he saw that it was in vain when the woman sighed and instantly lost interest in what he was saying. Instead, she signalled her partner with a slight nod of her head and before Wiedman could do anything, her partner grabbed him by the top of his head. Wiedman began screaming when he felt an intense burning sensation within his skull, smoke curling from his ears, as the partner grinned and Wiedman's body then instantly burst into flames, swiftly burning away to a scorched carcass within seconds.

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