A burly man entered the room, his huge frame looming over him. A white lab coat trailed on the floor, the edges streamed with crimson. He lumbered over to Clay and hauled him up by his sore arm, making him wince.

"Come on. The boss want you." He pushed Clay toward the door.

"No!" Jewel yelled, launching herself at the man. He blinked in surprise as Jewel ricocheted off of him, then swung a huge paw and latched on to Jewel's throat.

Clay's blood froze as he squeezed, aiming to crush her windpipe. Jewel pawed weakly at his hand. "Stop! You're killing her!" screamed Clay. The man seemed to come to his senses and unclenched his hand. Jewel dropped like a stone, coughing and wheezing like a fish out of water. A hand-shaped bruise was already starting to form, an ugly blue-purple that stood out against her pale skin. Clay growled at the man and he brought his hand up and smacked Clay across the face.

"None of that," said the man, pushing Clay out the door. "We're already late."

The fluorescent light burned Clay's eyes, and his sense of smell was overwhelmed by the scent of cleaning fluid. As the man dragged him down the hallway, Clay's bare feet grew numb against the cold stone. Several rooms lined the hallway; all of the doors were made of heavy stone, and locked. Various squeaks, grunts, howls, growls, and snarls came from them. All of the doors were decorated with an assortment of chains and padlocks, criss-crossing and looping over the others.

The man stopped at the end of the hallway in front of the last room. The door was regular wood, though deep scratches penetrated it. The man opened the door and pushed him through into a bright room.

An oak desk dominated the small space, piles of papers stacked haphazardly, some pooling onto two chairs across from the desk or onto the shining floor. Jason sat behind the desk, bending over a pile of papers.

"Ah, Clay," Jason said without looking up. "So glad you could join me." He finally looked up. He looked above Clay's head and nodded. "Strap him." Suddenly the guard sprung into action, and before Clay could react he was pushed into a door on the right. The Darkened gray walls repealed heat any heat in the room, making his blood feel like ice. Tables lined the walls, covered with bloody tools of various sizes and sharpness. A metal table stood in the center of the room, under the eye of a fake sun, it's light cold and dead. He struggled against the man, but he simply whacked Clay about the head with his strong hands. Stunned, Clay didn't fight back as the man heaved him onto the table and strapped his limbs down. The cold seeped into his limbs and he went into full panic mode, fighting vainly against the straps.

"Now, now, none of that," Jason chided. "Are you going to sit quietly or do I need to get one of your friends to help me?" Clay immediately quited. No way was he going put his friends through this. "Now," Jason said, holding up a short blade. "Let's begin."

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The next hour passed in a blur of pain. Jason asked him questions, pressing for information on his real name, where he came from, what he was. Clay answered his questions in silence, and his lack of response was always rewarded with some form of pain-inflicting method. Sometimes Jason used the small knife to make small cuts in various places until the knife was red and blood flowed freely from Clay's body, dripping steadily onto the floor. Eventually Jason ceased tormenting him and the assistant that had brought him dragged him back to his cell. Clay was exhausted. He barely was aware when the guard opened the door and threw him onto the floor. The cold floor felt good on his heated body, and he relaxed slightly as the pain ebbed slightly. A soft hand gently picked up his head and began stroking his hair, and he finally allowed the darkness to invade.