Deathstroke's HQ

November 11

4:37

ONE HOUR EARLIER

"Now, my dear, shall we try this again?"

Kory was bound in tungsten to a chair in the middle of a garage-like complex. Her hands were restrained and confined. Her face was clammy and strings of hair fell in front of her eyes. She stared up at Deathstroke with a murderous glare. She remained silent. He sighed.

"Fine," he said impartially, taking a large fire poker of sorts, glowing purple, and held it up to her face. Sweat beads formed on her head as he brought it closer. He smiled. "Last chance."

She spit in his face.

He calmly wiped off his chin, and shook his head.

"A shame. I was hoping to do this the easy way." He let the long object fall leisurely out of his hand, letting it slap against her thigh, hard. She grit her teeth, trying to hold back her scream.

"Hurts, don't it?" He swung it back and forth. He slapped it against her other thigh, twice as hard. This time a loud cry escaped her lips. She turned her head away. "Aw, don't be that way, honey. I'm just doing my job! Nothing personal,"

When she turned her head back, the look in her eyes was beyond hatred. He chuckled.

"Hoo-hoo, look who's angry! Don't fret, my dear," he got close, pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not scarring that pretty face."

She bit at his fingers, as hard as she could. But his reflexes were inhuman. He moved them out of the way point two seconds away from becoming a three-fingered mercenary. He laughed again.

"You do have some spirit, girl. And you haven't blacked out from the pain yet, which is very impressive," he struck her across her knees with the scepter. Her jaw clenched as she again attempted to hold in her cries. The pain was astounding. "You can make it stop, girlie. All you have to do is say where they are."

She stayed completely silent. He nodded, putting down the scepter.

"I should've known. It would take more than this- this plaything to get information out of you." He looked at the poker in disappointment and tossed it aside. He moved slowly and casually toward a long, short metal box, opening it and letting the lid smash to the floor. The sound echoed throughout the enclosure. He hummed as he rummaged through its contents. He picked up a large item, concealed in shadows, and smiled through his mask. He turned toward her, malice glowing in his one good eye.

"No more playtime," he held up a glowing, red-hot, ten inch serrated knife. Her eyes widened. "Time for business."