Pain.

It was as if something had crawled into her brain and was smashing the walls about with a mace. It was both throbbing and stabbing; constant and yet more came in spurts as if someone had set it to increase like clockwork. And as if that weren't already enough, a light slowly began to grow brighter as her consciousness crept back, despite her willing it to stay dormant. At least she couldn't feel when she was still knocked out.

The brightness was soon too much to handle, contributing to her pain. Ever so slowly, her eyes fluttered open as she forced herself to adjust to it and focus. Clarity began to seep in as what was once just the vision of light around began to dissolve and she could make out her location. Her head stopped swimming, and although the pain from the light was gone, whatever else was coursing through her still assailed her from within.

The first thing she saw in front of her was a wall the colour of…was that a light purple? As her eyes adjusted more, she saw that it looked like lilacs in the springtime, making her wonder just where the hell she actually was – a dungeon or a child's bedroom?

The answer quickly revealed itself as she tried to move and found that she was unable to do so. In fact, she was mostly numb from her neck down. She hadn't previously noticed as the searing pain in her head kept her well distracted, but now it was clear that it was the only sensation she could feel in her body. She looked down and saw that she was sitting upright in a wooden chair, her wrists tightly bound to the chair's arms by a thick rope. She couldn't see them, but she felt that her ankles were similarly tied to the chair's legs, the silken robe she was still wearing unable to prevent the rope from digging into her skin. Having had blood flow cut off from those extremities and being in a sitting position for however long she was, it was no wonder she couldn't feel her body.

She let out a heavy disheartened sigh and threw her head back, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. As she opened them, she saw that the room wasn't completely bare – in the top right corner of the room was a small black circular object which revealed itself as a camera with its dim red light. Knowing that her captor was watching her every move, she knew her next actions would be key to making a bold first impression. So she did the first thing that came to her aching mind.

"You see a pair of laughing eyes," she sings, mostly to the camera, but also because as soon as she does so, her focus has lessened on her throbbing head. "And suddenly you're sighing sighs. You think nothing's wrong. You string along, boy, then snap!"

She heard a door open directly behind her, a place where her peripheral vision failed.

"Those eyes, those sighs, they're part of the tender trap," she finishes, as the footsteps come around to finally end directly in front of her. A large, muscular man stood in front of her in black slacks and black cotton tee shirt. His blond hair shone in the bright light and his fierce light-coloured eyes bore into her own.

"Good evening, Emma," his gruff voice greeted, a slight German accent audible. The voice was incredibly disconcerting to her, but she kept her straight face and flashed a dim smile for him. "I will highly recommend that you cooperate from this point on." His accent was far more discernable than it previously been, indicating that this particular sentence was uttered often in his line of work, and he had simply gotten used to saying it the way it was. "Let's start with an easy one we both know the answer to: who is your employer?

She grinned a little more widely. "Not a fan of Sinatra, then?"

And then suddenly more pain as the man lashed his knuckles hard against her jaw. Her dry bottom lip cracked open and the ringing in her skull significantly intensified. It would definitely bruise, but left her jaw mostly in tact. Of course he did; they still needed her to talk.

"Are we done with the wise cracks yet?" he asked, rolling the ring on his dominant hand around to show just how much pain he had the capacity to cause.

She tried her hardest to push the pain from her mind and muster up a smile as she responded, "Guess not. You seem more of the Rammstein type."

Another hard lash across the opposite cheek, and this time she felt the cold sting of his ring along with every single knuckle on his hand.

"Such loyalty to a team that left you with nothing."

She spit out some of the blood that had begun to pool in her mouth. "I've saved lives. And how many have you taken?" She looked up at him defiantly. "Imagine if it had been your life in danger. Or your partner's." She nodded at the gold ring he was currently stroking.

Her eyes pierced his and in her defiance, he saw neither anger nor pain, merely understanding. He was taken aback more by her sincerity than her words. His brows furrowed as he began to think about what his next step was. It took a few seconds for him to come to.

Without a second glance at her, he began walking to the door. Perhaps hunger and dehydration would weaken her resolve upon their next meeting.

"Don't forget to wipe the blood from your ring," she called after him as he was switching it back to his left hand. And then she was alone with her pain once more.

The glaring lights remained on as she drifted in and out of sleep. Every time her face or bound limbs began to throb, she would close her eyes. If sleep could not come to her, she could find peace in memory.

She thought back to her few months of escape. She found herself high in the mountains of northern India, surrounded by greenery, monasteries, and little else. Nobody went there to live a luxurious life, to go about making business deals in a rush, even to eat their heart out on vacation. It wasn't some beach resort with wailing children about and beer-drinking competitions. It was to escape all that. It was a spa without all the unnecessary products and activities. It was a place solely for the mind.

It took her about a month to get settled in, to get used to the place and buy her own studio to hold yoga sessions, which there was definitely not a lack of in the area. But people came to her nonetheless because she was kind. Perhaps it was because the atmosphere was so new to her, her gratefulness to just be alive in this paradise radiated to everyone who met her. She learned to have patience, to block out the outside world, to have a soft-spoken voice so as to calm even a newly bankrupt company's CEO. That was her own personal heaven, and whenever she found herself in emotional turmoil, like from being so confined to a cottage and having little to no human contact, or even physical, as she did now, she would let her mind wander to this place, forgetting all else.

She was in one of her dazes from pain and hunger when she heard the door open behind her. The man came to her front when she realized it was not the same one from yesterday at all. He had similar clothing with added latex gloves and had longer shaggy blonde hair with a skinnier frame. He reminded her of weasel. "Is the other guy on vacation leave?" she asked weakly, still managing to muster up a smile for the new one.

Surprisingly, he smiled back, but it was wicked and tinged with malice. "He seemed to grow a liking to you so I volunteered to take over," the Welshman revealed. She didn't dare to think what that could have meant for the other man. He slowly began walking toward her and grabbed her bruised jaw tightly, making her feel the pain ten times more than it ever had been. "It's okay though. I promise we'll have just as much fun."

She ground her teeth through the pain, looking up at him. "That's it? I've had first dates worse than that."

This earned a chuckle from him as he let go of her. He bent down so that his face was but an inch from hers. "I see why Alex liked you. He likes his women with a sense of humor."

"And you?"

His grin widened. "I like the tough ones. The ones who single-handedly wipe out three highly trained assassins in a matter of seconds." She smiled proudly. "I have to admit, Mycroft's pets keep getting better and better." After seeing her smile replaced with a look of confusion, he chuckled once more. "You think you're the first? No, no, no." He clicked his tongue in disapproval, retreating from her as he began to pace around the room. "We've caught dozens. Or has he not told you that? Pity. I bet he's surprised you lasted as long as you did."

Now she understood why they had sent this man instead of the previous man. The latter's job was to physically break her, but they quickly realized that was not happening. Her high tolerance plus her own psychological tricks were going to get them nowhere. No, they had to get her into a delusional state before beginning to manipulate her. This man wasn't just hired muscle like the last guy. He was here to break her in any way possible.

Still, she kept her head held high and responded, "If you're here to convince me to hate Mycroft, consider the job done before we even had the pleasure to cross paths. But I do respect him and the work he does. So if you're expecting me to reveal anything to you, you're going down a dead end."

"I see," he stated, in exaggerated disappointment. He began walking towards the door and when it slammed shut, she released a sigh of relief. But her hopes had soon been sullied as it opened and shut once more. He appeared back in her path, this time holding what she was a severed head. He let the recognition settle in on her face before throwing it down to the floor by her feet.

Instant nausea battered her like a freight train. If it were possible, she looked even paler under the lights as she stared down at the head, trying her hardest to suppress not only regurgitation, but sobbing also.

Looking up at her was Tim's head, who was the last friendly face she ever saw, and in fact the only friendly face she would go months without seeing usually. His eyes held no laughter like they usually did. Instead, pale eyelids covered them, a skin tone that matched the rest of the head down to the neck where blood glistened brightly under the fluorescent bulbs. Her mind raced to his wife, his children in the photos he last showed her and how happy they all were. Their last conversation about Dublin repeated in her mind.

"He didn't…he didn't need to die," she slowly choked out, looking clearly ill as her eyes finally tore away from the head.

"On the contrary, he knew the security measures and layout of your little premises. He proved very useful. And he's proving useful yet again." He flashed another toothy grin. "As you can see now though, I'm done fucking around." In two quick strides, he was upon the index finger on her hand, which he quickly and ferociously pulled all the way back. She threw her head back and let out a scream as her finger broke with a snap. "Tell me the password to your hardware now."

She closed her eyes tightly and thought of how her yoga studio had a balcony, which she would often open up during sessions to let the sunlight provide some natural heat to their bodies.

The middle finger was the next to be broken as he continued to shout at her.

She gritted her teeth and thought about how the sound of children laughing and playing street sports would often serve as ambient music to their ears.

The ring finger was next.

Tears streamed down her face as she watched the sun set behind the mountain and ate a plate of curried vegetables that made her place smell like turmeric and chili powder for days afterward.

The pinky finger made her head start swimming and she knew she was going to lose consciousness soon.

A fading memory of the taste of pistachio ice cream drifted in and out of her mind.

She was brought back into consciousness by the final one: her thumb. She was violently shaking in her chair at this point, unable to be comforted by any experience she had ever had. At this point, she prayed for death.

Her prayers were answered as the man let out a frustrated sigh and whipped her across the face out of anger. Thankfully, her pain limit was an all-time high and she had barely felt it. "You useless cunt!" he screamed into her face. "It's pointless keeping you alive now."

He heard her footsteps walking directly behind her, feeling his presence lingering. Soon enough, his hands found her throat, the latex being able to get a tight grip despite her sweat. The hands began to clench and she soon found herself struggling for air. A few more seconds and all her pain left her. Tiny white dots began to appear in her vision and her consciousness began to drift away. She was thankful for the release when all of a sudden, the hands let go and she came out gasping for air.

As her sense came back to her, she felt the throbbing in her hand once more and the shaking started up, but her mind was distracted. She heard a second pair of footsteps behind her, and one of her captors left the room. She found herself dreaming of death again as she heard the steps approach her.

"Do you like the colour of the walls? I've just had them repainted," a high-pitched voice began. "The old colour got a bit…dirty. I could have used a darker colour, but what can I say? I'm a sucker for pastels." He stepped into her field of vision and then directly in front of her. She had to shake some of her falling locks of hair out of her face as her eyes slowly began to drift up from the floor, first to the fine leather Italian shoes, then the light grey suit pant and matching jacket, to a light yellow tie, and then across his smiling face, finally resting at the dark pools that were his eyes. "I'd introduce myself, but…well, you already know more about me than anyone else."