"Don't you think that's a little much?"

Stryker tightened his grip on the spear, struggling to keep it pointed at his uncle. Chase's smirk and Stryker's new gashes spoke volumes, but the shuddering staff he held was much louder. Why couldn't he hold it still? Why couldn't he lunge or at least try to get out of the room? What was going on with him, why was he so...

...I'm scared... Stryker realized. I'm terrified. I can't do anything but shake like a dog.

"Pointing one of my spears at me, surrounded by my armor," Chase started, sending a swift gaze around the room before looking back at his nephew. "Strange, how like me you've become."

"I'm n-nothing like you," Stryker hissed, his brow knit at the wavering in his voice. "I don't hurt people like y-you do."

"No, you really don't. You just cower in corners and point sharp objects that you don't plan to use."

Stryker swallowed hard and shifted his grip on the spear, smearing his blood on the pole.

"How hard is it to hold that anyway?"

"Get away," Stryker whimpered when Chase stepped forward.

"Why? I thought you weren't afraid of me."

"Get back!"

"But you're my nephew-"

"Get away from me!"

"You want me to get away? Then make me. Take that spear and ram it through my heart."

They stared at each other, their eyes glowing brightly, Chase's from triumph, Stryker's from terror. Chase put his index finger on the point, never losing eye contact with his nephew, then pushed it away from him. Stryker watched the point fall, unable to breath, as Chase stepped to him.

"I believe we've had enough of this, don't you think?" he growled into his ear. "After all, I have clearly won this battle."

He grabbed the spear and wrenched it from Stryker's grasp, tossed it across the room. Stryker flinched when it pierced the wall and stayed there.

"Would you like to leave now?" Chase asked him. "The door's right there."

Stryker shivered, his eyes moving to the only exit. He could at least make it to the door before his uncle moved, but there was no garantee that he could make it out. Not without being dismembered.

"What's the matter? Afraid to move?"

Chase watched him stare at the door, unable to stop quivering. His sneer widened.

"What happened to my brave little nephew?" he mocked. "Why are you suddenly so frightened of me?"

"I'm not stupid," Stryker mumbled. "You'll attack me before I can even move."

"Really?" Chase laughed. "Do me a favor and try."

Stryker clenched his fists, then cried out when Chase wrapped a hand around his neck and shoved him against the wall.

"I've broke you, haven't I?"

"Let...go..."

Chase dropped him onto the floor, turning his back on him. He grabbed the sleeve of one of his armor suits, then pulled it off the rack and tossed it to his coughing nephew. Stryker stared at it as if it too would attack him.

"I'll be in my throne room when you're ready to come out of hiding."

Stryker glanced up enough to see him saunter out and slam the door shut. He slid back down onto his stomach, his wide eyes staring at the armor in front of him. His wounds stung him again, and Stryker felt some blood trace his cheek and plop onto the floor. He forced himself up and looked down at the floor, furrowing his brow at the drop of water staring back at him. He brushed his hand across his face and gazed at the trail of tears that washed the blood off his arm.

He really was broken.