The first thing Kaldur felt when he awoke was dryness. It wasn't just the usual sense he got when he was on land, but something stronger, something worse, the feeling that not only was he out of the water, he was too far removed from it even to sense its presence. It was the same dryness that had sapped his strength and felled him within hours of their arrival in Bialya, but this was cooler, more tolerable to his other senses. Still, the absence of moisture made his head heavy and blurred his vision. He didn't like it. Not in the least.

He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings– a small room, walls and floor of smooth concrete, windowless. A single door on the opposite wall, but no mechanism for opening it, no handle or push bar or knob. It looked heavy. Embedded in the ceiling behind some kind of thick plastic was a bright fluorescent light that cast a harsh light on the whole room. As for himself, he lay on a narrow bed made with soft white sheets; someone had tucked him in with a degree of care, and his chest and arms had been wrapped with some kind of gauze. So while the room itself was quite Spartan, someone had clearly intended to make him comfortable enough.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as he figured out just why the gauze was there – his front side was mottled with bruises and burns. Given the toughness of his skin, he had to assume it was the explosion that had caused them, since it took a sizeable amount of force to injure him at all. The pain wasn't so bad that he couldn't move, though, so he stood and walked to the door, running his hands over its surface to check for faults, then throwing a kick at it with as much force as he could muster. It didn't budge. As expected, it was unopenable from this side.

Walking back to the bed, Kaldur sat down on the edge of it and pressed a hand to his temple. The effort of trying to open the door, coupled with the unbearable dryness he felt, had made him dizzy. Where was he? Who had brought him here? What had caused that explosion?

As if to answer his questions, the door opened slowly, and a plain-looking man in a white coat stepped inside.

"Kaldur'ahm," he acknowledged with a nod. "If you would come with me."

Kaldur looked up in suspicion, but wasn't sure he had much of a choice. How did this man know his name? But to be sure, nothing would come of him if he stayed here. So he stood, more carefully this time, and stepped across the room to follow them man out into the corridor.

Like the room, everything in the hallway was bare concrete. No guards followed them, and on some level Kaldur was tempted to use a bit of his superior strength to force some answers out of the man who was leading him along, but he had a feeling that if he were among enemies, they would not respond well to such an action, and if he were among friends, there would be no need. So instead, he settled for asking.

"Where am I?"

"In a secure facility," the man replied, checking something on a clipboard as he walked along.

"Who brought me here?"

"Someone who cared enough to fix you up, obviously." The man gestured vaguely towards the dressing of his torso.

"Who?"

"Patience, Kaldur. I think he'll want to introduce himself personally."

Kaldur frowned.

"Where are you taking me?"

The man sighed impatiently and put down his clipboard, turning a corner and reaching into his coat pocket for a small card, which he waved in front of a sensor on another one of the unmarked doors.

"Here," he said as the door swung open on some kind of automatic hinge. "I'm taking you here. Go inside and have a seat on the table."

Kaldur did as he was told, stepping inside a room somewhat like the one he'd been in before, but much larger, with a higher ceiling and thin skylights that told him it must have been midday. The table in question was one like a medical examiner's, and at an expectant cough from the man behind him, he walked to it and took a seat.

"Now then, let's see how those burns are healing up," the man said, setting aside the clipboard and stepping up beside him. He reached for the bandages. Kaldur was tempted to stop him – this would inevitably hurt, and he still didn't know what this man's intentions were – but decided against it. His head was too foggy to pick a fight over anything just yet, and the man had made no attempt to harm him thus far.

When the bandages came off, the pain was intense, but Kaldur grit his teeth and made no sound. The man cleaned the wounds with rubbing alcohol and a mechanical sort of gentleness; when he was finished, Kaldur's skin felt dryer than ever, and stung slightly, but he knew from past experience that this was how it worked; he'd had similar injuries treated in the Cave.

Just as he let his mind drift back towards his teammates, and the fact that he was probably missing training, the door swung open and a new person entered the room – a tall man, well-built, with skin just a shade darker than Kaldur's own. He had a stern face, marked with a few small scars, and dark, intelligent eyes that looked Kaldur up and down with an objective interest.

The first man had just begun to wrap Kaldur's chest with fresh bandages when the newcomer held up his hand.

"Let me," he said, stepping forward. When the other man acquiesced, he took up the bandages and began to dress Kaldur's injuries with a tenderness that seemed incongruous with his cold demeanor. Watching him work, Kaldur struggled to recall how he knew this man; he was somehow familiar, yet he could not recall having ever met him…

"I know your face," he said finally, eyes narrowing. "You're Black Manta. An enemy of Atlantis, and of the Justice League."

"That is one of my names, yes," said Manta evenly, moving to wrap Kaldur's left arm in a fresh bandage.

"Then why are you healing me?" Kaldur asked. "You must know that I am sworn to oppose you. You have called me by name, in Atlantis. You know who I am."

"I do," Manta agreed. "I know quite a lot about you, actually, Kaldur'ahm. We have much to discuss."

Kaldur wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. He frowned again, watching Manta's hands work as they finished tying off the last of the bandages.

"It was you who set off that explosion," he accused.

"No," said Manta, stepping back. "You did that yourself. It was dark, and you were careless, swimming into a minefield like that. You were distracted."

He could not argue with that, yet he could not help but remain suspicious. This was his king's greatest nemesis.

"Why bring me here, then?" he pressed. "Why treat my wounds? I am your enemy."

"Your word, not mine, Kaldur," said Manta. "But I have answered enough questions for now. There is more to me than you know, and I want the chance to talk to you face to face, away from…outside influences. But now is not the time. You are weary, and you must be hungry. Heems, bring him some food."

The first man – Heems, apparently – nodded and left the room, leaving Kaldur alone with Manta. The silence was thick, but Kaldur's head had begun to clear somewhat, as if a heavy fog were lifting from his mind, yet still, he could not completely focus, and the uncomfortable dryness persisted. Manta pulled up a metal chair from a counter at the side of the room and took a seat, watching Kaldur from a distance with a calm curiosity.

"Fascinating," he murmured after a moment.

"Do I amuse you?" Kaldur asked, eyes narrowing.

"No. You simply…remind me."

Kaldur turned away, now looking about the room for a means of escape. Whatever the story was about how he had come here, he knew of Black Manta, had already witnessed him bomb half of Atlantis to smithereens, had personally fought him. Manta's men had almost killed Tula. Manta's men had attempted to murder the Queen and the heir she carried. He could not be trusted.

Presently, the door opened again and Heems entered with a tray. Kaldur waited only a moment to see what was on it, just long enough to determine the presence of a cup, then he waited a calculated moment. The instant Heems came within arm's reach, he snapped his head up, arms reaching out to command whatever fluid was present, but to his surprise, a jolt of pain shot through his body, and instead of lighting up, his tattoos only glowed dimly, then flickered back to black. The water in the cup rippled, but nothing more. Trying to conceal his rapidly growing panic, Kaldur cast a glance at Manta, whose expression remained unchanged.

"What have you done to me?" he asked, jaw tight.

"Nothing permanent," Manta reassured. "But I had a feeling you would be less than eager to have a civilized conversation with me, given our history, so we've given you a little injection. Just enough to neutralize your powers for the time being. I am not going to hurt you, Kaldur. I thought it only fair to assure that you did not hurt me in return. You must be hungry. Eat."

Kaldur grit his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing else he could do. Knowing Manta, there were guards somewhere close by, and he had no idea where he was or what purpose he was to serve before they were done with him. For the time being, they seemed to wish him no ill – the benefits of playing along outweighed the those of attacking his captors, for now.

Accepting the tray, he ate, realizing only as he did how incredibly hungry he was. The water relieved the worst of the strange dryness, but it lingered on, dulling his senses and his thoughts. For now, there was nothing to do but wait.