In a Van...

      "What are our orders now?" a gruff voice asked.

     "We could kill him," another said. "I don't see what any other use for him there-"

     "No!" a loud voice cut in. "Remember our orders! He's to be used in the trials; the master didn't want to waste another potential subject. Besides, what threat could he be?"

      A voice snickered, "He's just a drunkard from what I've seen on T.V., I don't have a feeling that Mr. Pierce is going to be a problem to us."

     Desmond's head slapped against the floor of the truck as the vehicle hit a bump in the road. He gasped and could hear everyone turn on him.

     "He's conscious," one of them calmly stated. "Give him another dosage."

     "Same one as last time?" a man asked.

     "Stronger," the first replied, "I want him out for the rest of the trip. When we transfer him over to the others I don't want to be held accountable for any...annoyances that he may cause."

     Desmond squirmed a little as a bag was torn off of his head and he barely glimpsed the interior of a dimly-lit truck. He looked up into the eyes of his captor and tried to scream when he felt a long syringe poke into his neck. The truck was so dim that all Desmond could make out was the silhouette of a muscular man.

     "Go ahead and scream," the man whispered. "Nobody can hear you...and if they could I doubt that they'd even care."

     Desmond's consciousness slipped as the dosage took over. He tried to break out of whatever bondages that he was put in, but his arms had no strength. Before he blacked out he heard the man lean in and whisper:

     "Welcome to what's left of your life, there ain't no martinis where you're going."

     Then Desmond blacked out.

**

19 Years Previously...

     Screams. Explosions. Cries for help. Dust lingering in the air.

     "Dad!" a ten-year-old Desmond screamed, his lungs filling with the sickening dust. "Help me!"

     "Desmond!" a voice croaked from his left.

     Desmond looked and saw a bloodied figure half-covered in rubble that had fallen from the ceiling. The figure tried to crawl towards Desmond but could not muster the strength. Instead, he lay gasping on the floor atop a pool of blood.

     "Dad?" Desmond whispered.

     "Son," the figure answered, looking up.

     Desmond squinted and, through the floating dust particles in the air, could make out the distinguishing characteristics of his father. The hair and beard were not as pristine, instead they looked like they had been through hell, but the same hazel eyes desperately looked at Desmond. He tried to smile but it faltered as the rubble on top of him shifted a little.

     "Desmond," Aaron Pierce moaned. "Are you a-alright?"

     "D-Dad," Desmond stammered. "I'm scared."

     "D-Desmond," Aaron whispered, "I know you're afraid, but that's okay. Fear...it makes us stronger."

     "Dad?" Desmond asked. "A-Are you okay?"

     "There are going to be times..." Aaron Pierce groaned, trying to shift himself, "...that you are going to be so very afraid. There are going to be times when you are just going to want to throw it all away. But Desmond...my son...you must go on."

     "Why are you talking like that?" Desmond asked. "You talk like-"

     "My son..." the figure whispered, slackening. "My son..."

     Aaron Pierce's body relaxed and the light left his brilliant hazel eyes. Desmond sat, mortified, but mustered the strength to crawl forward among all the rubble.

     "Dad?" Desmond asked. "Dad?"

     But there was no response.

     "Don't go!" Desmond pleaded as he caressed his father's head in his arms and tears trickled down his face. "Dad I need you! Dad! DAD!!"

**

Present Day    

      "Dad!" Desmond cried out before his eyes opened up, staring at the dirty concrete ceiling above him. His heart hammered and tears glistened in his eyes. "Dad..."

     Desmond straightened himself out and discovered that he was lying on a matted cot. The air was very cold, and he could see his breath in the air in front of him. He glanced around and saw that the creaky cot was situated in the corner of a dark, cracked, concrete cell. There was only one small window that let any light inside and Desmond tried to walk over. However, when he swung his legs over the cot they screamed with pain. He looked down and saw that he was covered in bruises and scars; he had not been handled with any care at all.

     "Ah," Desmond whispered while he tried to get to his feet. The world spun a little and he almost lost balance, but then everything stilled and he staggered to the window.

     Desmond peered out and gasped a little in surprise when an ice-cold wind hit him in the face. Outside, there were nothing but mountains swept in snow. The wind howled against the wall of the cell and Desmond had to step back out of fear of frostbite. He had no idea where he was, and after a moment a steady fear began to set in. His mind swirled with possibilities as to where he might be.

     Desmond made his way back to his cot and gingerly sat down. Looking at his body, he observed that he was dressed in the same clothes he had been in while at Platinum Tower. He closed his eyes and leaned back, remembering back to the day of the attack. Desmond remembered the bomber and the strange tattoo that laced its way around his forearm. Then, he remembered back to his latest memory of the hand clamping his head to the couch. It, too, had the lacing tattoo of what looked like...a black dragon.

     The Black Dragon...

     The name echoed from the furthest corners of his memory. He thought back to a newspaper he saw, on a night he was bar-hopping with his girlfriend, and Desmond remembered a headline reading: The Black Dragon Issues Threat!

     "The Black Dragon," Desmond whispered to himself while he shifted his weight on the creaking cot and huddled his bruised body together for warmth. "Is it possible?"

     The Black Dragon was a terrorist organization. From what Desmond could remember, it was a group of people that were responsible for several bombings throughout the world. There had been an international man-hunt for the leader of the organization, but they never found him.

     There was clamor outside the thick iron door to his cell and Desmond looked up. A tiny metallic slider slid away and revealed a pair of bloodshot eyes. Then, the slider slid back and there was the sound of a lock grinding open. Desmond withered away as the door slowly creaked open. A man, several inches taller than Desmond and ripped with muscle, walked through the doorway and spoke.

     "Mr. Pierce!" he said through rotting teeth. "I see that you made your journey...comfortably."

     Desmond could barely understand what the man was saying through the thick accent that he spoke with. It sounded kind of like Russian, but with a hint of several other languages. He looked into Desmond's eyes and smiled a little; his bald head gleamed in the dim light of the cell.

     "W-What do you want with me?" Desmond quietly stuttered. "Do you want money? I've got plenty of money!"

     "The master isn't interested in your money," the man answered. "There is...though...something that he does very much need."

     "What's that?" Desmond whispered, pressing himself as close to the wall as he possibly could, further distancing himself from the abomination that stood in front of him.

     "Come with me," he said, grabbing hold of Desmond's bruised shoulders.

     "Ow!" Desmond moaned as he was practically dragged across the floor. "Let me go!"

     The man shook his head, "Don't make this harder than it has to be Mr. Pierce. You don't want to disappoint the master."

     "Who the...master? Who is the master?" Desmond protested, simultaneously swinging his legs around wildly and ignoring the shots of pain that ensued.

     "SHUT UP!" the man said as he dropped Desmond and smacked him in the face. "No more questions!"

     Desmond held his face in his hands, sobbing a little. He was hoisted down a dimly-lit hallway and into another cellar-like room. The air was even colder, despite there not being any other windows, and the entire room was crowded with machinery. Desmond was thrown onto a chair and strapped down with ease.

     "Please..." Desmond sobbed. "I don't want any trouble."

     "What did I say?" the man said, raising his hand threateningly. "No. More. Questions!"

     Desmond shut his mouth and peeked around the room, scanning everything with terrified eyes. His heart thumped and sweat collected on his forehead; he was worried that he might have another panic attack.

     "The doctor will be with you shortly," the man said under his breath as he briskly left the room.

     There were machines everywhere, and each one buzzed with a different frequency. Desmond peered at them with interest, hoping to get some more insight on their function. A logo was imprinted on one of the machines and he closely looked at it. However, all of the components were smudged over with a layer of dirt and dust so it was impossible to distinguish instrument from instrument. There was a shuffling noise and Desmond jumped as a man walked in wearing a stained lab coat. His hair was long, it looked like it had been some time since he last cleaned it, and he wore cracked spectacles. The doctor was about the same height as Desmond, but he looked very frail. He reminded him of the old man that had come to Platinum Tower begging for money.

     "Mr. Pierce!" the doctor wheezed as he sauntered in, hunched over. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I have been looking forward to...making your acquaintance."

     "Who are you?" Desmond asked, his voice trembling a little as he spoke. "Are you here to kill me?"

     "I'm Dr. Harrison," Harrison replied, his voice crackling with what sounded like years of smoking. "Also, I am not here to kill you Mr. Pierce. You are far too valuable for that."

     "Then why am I here?" Desmond asked. "Why did you take me? How did you get into Platinum Tower?"

     Harrison waved his hand, seemingly dismissing Desmond's allegations, "Special Ops are not my area of expertise. My purpose is to work on Project Bellator, and before you ask about the name its Latin for 'warrior'. The master is very interested in the benefits it could bring us."

     "There it is again," Desmond said, his voice rising in strength. "Who is the master?"

     Harrison dismissed him again and moved over to a table filled with syringes, "That's what we call him. He has a name...but we don't call him it out of respect. The master is very powerful indeed," he stopped a moment as he started coughing uncontrollably.

     Desmond craned his neck to see what Harrison was fiddling with on the desk, but then shrank back when he turned around with a needle filled to the brim with a blue-liquid.

     "W-What is that?" Desmond asked as Harrison approached. "Get that away from me!"

     "Ssshhh," Harrison shushed while he pulled up Desmond's sleeve, "if you move it will only hurt more."

     He injected the serum into his arm and Desmond gritted his teeth as a white-hot pain shot into his body. His arms tensed and the veins bulged while the liquid raced its way through his bloodstream. Spots danced before Desmond's eyes, and he had to blink several times in order to clear them.

     "There," Harrison said, removing the needle, "now was that really that bad?"

     Desmond blinked sweat from his eyes and breathed heavily, "You...you..."

     "Language!" Harrison instructed before he started hooking up wires to Desmond from all sides. "I do not tolerate any swearing in my office."

     "What..." Desmond hissed before swallowing, "what was that?"

     "It's of no matter," Harrison answered, flipping more switches on a nearby monitor. "All it was meant to do is to prep you."

     "For what?" Desmond asked, trying to squirm out of the chair.

     "For this," Harrison said, flipping a final switch.

     The world went completely white as energy coursed through Desmond's body. He screamed but could not hear himself. Desmond's entire body flopped around like a fish, completely out of his control, and the chair fell to the side. Instantly the pain stopped, and Desmond breathed heavily.

     "Stop," he begged, tears washing down his face. "Whatever I did to you I'm sorry but please stop!"

     "Again!" Harrison yelled, flipping the switch again. Pain coursed through his subject's body and he writhed on the floor helplessly. After a couple of seconds he stopped the energy and stepped back.

     "Hmmm," he said to himself before he went to a clipboard, "subject appears to be in much stress but, nevertheless, still alive. I will proceed."

     "I HATE YOU!" Desmond screamed from the floor.

     "Again!" Harrison announced.

     The world was nothing but a blur. Images danced in front of Desmond's eyes like hallucinations. His body shook as a searing pain erupted from his mouth: he had bit his tongue.

     "AAARRRGGGGHHHH," Desmond screamed while the world danced with the energy. There was no time, or space, there was only the pain.

     Just when he was on the verge of losing it completely, the pain stopped and Desmond could feel his body hoisted up and unstrapped from the chair. However, it all felt as if it were happening to somebody else, far away.

     "That's enough tests for today I think," Harrison said nonchalantly. "I must admit I am impressed, usually the subjects don't make it past that stage."

     Desmond was dragged back down the dimly-lit hallway and thrown into his cell. He lay shaking on the ground, his body pulsating with his rapid heartbeat.

     "Argh," Desmond groaned as he pulled his numb body up from the floor. Sweat dripped down his face and he spat blood onto the ground. He was so terrified, and so afraid. Never before in his life had he felt so vulnerable and violated.

     "Dad..." he stammered beneath his breath.

     "Hey!" a voice said through the doorway. "No noises!"

     Desmond's head fell to the floor and he closed his eyes. It did not matter that his face was on the concrete, because to him it felt like the softest pillow in the world. Nothing could compare with the pain of the doctor's experiments. He never wanted to experience the pain again.

     Desmond crawled onto his cot that creaked when he put his body on it. He curled himself into a ball and silently began to weep. His whole life had been one big screw-up since the very beginning. Everything he had ever endured had only resulted in pain. The result had been a hollowed-out shell of a human-being who tried to fill the holes of his life up with material items.

     He missed his dad.

**

Hours Later...     

     "Hey!" a voice shouted.

      Desmond jerked awake; he had been sleeping. He peeled his face from the cot and looked toward the iron door across the room. Desmond's entire body ached with pain and he had a monstrous headache that pounded with each beat of his heart.

     "Food!" the voice said before a few scraps were shoved underneath the door.

     Desmond gently crawled over to the far side of the room and gingerly picked up the scraps of "food". They looked like moldy pieces of bread, and they smelled terrible. Desmond grimaced and hesitated a moment before putting the piece in his mouth. His hunger had gotten the better of him, but even that could not stop him from spitting out the sour-tasting piece of cuisine. Desmond wiped the spittle from his mouth and crawled back to the cot, ignoring his growling stomach.

     "Pssst!" a voice whispered through the door.

     "Go away," Desmond mumbled, hugging his body that was shaking from the cold.

     "I'm not an affiliate!" the voice faintly said. "I am a prisoner!"

     Desmond's eyes opened up and he painfully scrambled to the other side of the cell. There was just enough room through the slider-opening for him to see across the filthy hall. Sure enough, there was another door leading to another cell. A haggard old gentleman was curiously peering through. He spoke in what sounded like a Chinese accent, but it was hard to tell because it was so muffled.

     "Who are you?" Desmond asked.

     "I'm like you," the man said. "I was taken from my village and brought here after they killed my family. They kept saying they needed me for experiments."

     "Did they take you away?" Desmond asked. "Did they inject you with some blue-liquid?"

     The man shook his head, "Not yet, but I saw that they took you. How was it? Was it painless?"

     Desmond's arms prickled with goosebumps as he remembered writhing on the floor, "No...but do you know where we are? Is there a way out? Help me!"

     The man squinted through the barred window of his door, "Say...you look familiar. Who are you?"

     Desmond hesitated before answering, "Desmond Pierce..."

     The man's eyes widened, "You! The man who likes a good party! I know you, but you better watch your back. There are many people who hate you..."

     Desmond blinked, "You didn't answer my question. How do I get out?"

     The man shook his head, "There is no way out. Once you come in, you never go out. When you die they throw your body down the ravine..."

     "I'm going to die here?" Desmond whispered to himself, his face going white. "I can't die....I don't want to die..."

     "There are things far worse than death," the man said, whispering so he could not be heard. "I would be grateful if they put me out of my misery right now..."

     "Do you know where we are?" Desmond asked eagerly.

     The man shook his head, "You're guess is as good as mine. I'm from a village in China, but I know for certain we aren't in China."

     Desmond cleared his throat, "Do you know why they didn't kill me?"

     "They need subjects," the man explained. "There are rumors...that they are experimenting on people."

     "Why?" Desmond asked, cringing at the memory of Dr. Harrison.

     "They are creating something," the man continued. "It will be something to turn everything in their favor."

     "Hey!" a voice called. "Who's talking down there?"

     A man stormed down the hallway and smashed his hand against Desmond's cell door. Then he heard the other man's door creaking open and him begging for mercy.

     "P-Please!" he heard the man beg. "Don't take me away! Don't give me the blue liquid!"

     "How do you know about that?" the man asked.

     "D-Desmond Pierce!" the man said. "He told me everything! Take him!"

     Desmond's cell door was busted open and the man, the same one that had dragged him down to Dr. Harrison, shoved Desmond to the floor.

     "What did I say about no noise?" he hissed, circling Desmond like a caged lion.

     "I-I'm s-sorry," Desmond stammered as he, too, began to beg. "I didn't mean to talk. I-I...it's just..."

     His face was smacked with a blow and he curled up in the corner shaking. Desmond felt his body grabbed and thrown against the wall.

     "Consider yourself lucky!" the man yelled. "I don't have permission to kill you. Dr. Harrison has...other plans."

     Desmond sobbed on the floor, tears streaking down his bloodied face, while the man charged into the cell across the hall.

     "No!" he heard the other prisoner scream. "No!"

     "But things are different for you!" the guard said. "I can do whatever I want to you!"

     There was one long scream, and then silence. Desmond never heard the man speak again.

     Desmond shut his eyes against the violence and heard his cell-door slam shut. He rocked back and forth, trying to stifle his sobs. Fear snaked around his body like the tattoos of the Black Dragon, and he could not help but wonder if he would end up like the other prisoner.

     To say he was terrified was an understatement.