Gojo Fanfic lmao

Interrogation

Goddamn it, why does my head always hurt when I wake up?!

My neck hurts, my shoulders hurt, ugh.

In an attempt to roll my shoulders back, I realized I couldn't. I whined, trying to shift around to lay in a fetal position. Couldn't move an inch.

"Good morning!"

I groaned, looking up at the white haired man from before. My neck ached as I looked up and around.

I was in a cellar? Basement? A very small room with no windows, no openings, just a very small, heavy looking door. Candles decorated every inch of the room emitting a warm but ominous glow. I could see many papers with weird writing. Many relics and totems.

The man infront of me was straddling a chair, facing me with that same smile on his face. My arms were tied back, strapped to the floor so I could not move.

Panic surged through my veins. I didn't think he was going to torture me. Last thing I thought of honestly.

Let me go!

My voice still doesn't work!

"You're going to have to speak up." He teased. I cleared my throat, deciding to test how gone my voice is. Even when Ive whined and groaned, not a sound has slipped out. I don't know what I sound like.

Taking a deep breath, I screamed my entire chest out. I even felt the burn in my throat, I felt my face redden from force I was using but nothing. The disbelief was written all over my face.

I slumped down into the chair, exhausted. I'm at my wits end here. Whatever this guy wants, he can have.

"My name is Gojo Satoru, I am a teacher here at Jujutsu high."

Jujutsu? Don't know it. Teacher? This guy acts like a student if anything.

"We've checked with other schools in the area, no students are missing. We've checked with every clan, no sorcerer is missing. So I ask you, what clan or school are you apart of?"

Clan? Sorcerer? What the hell is he talking about?

I shook my head, the most I could do to explain to him I didn't know anything. I don't understand anything he's talking about!

"Open wide." I jumped back, scared of what he was forcing into my mouth. "Write your name." A marker. He put a marker in my mouth. Then held out a notebook infront of me to write on.

The best I could I wrote, 'I don't know anything'. The letters were raggedy, barely legible but it the best I could do while drool was pooling in my lap.

"Where are you from?"

I underlined the first three words I previously wrote.

"Hm." He sighed. "I'm going to let one of your hands go. I warn you, if you try to escape...." He leaned in, centimeters away from my cowered face. "You die." He smiled, letting my right hand free.

I gulped, nodding.

I tucked my arm into my chest, stretching out the aches. How long did I sleep in that position?

He put a notebook on my lap.

"What's your name?"

I wrote quickly, frantically trying to explain my situation.

'I woke up in the street four days ago. I don't remember or know anything.'

"You arrived a week ago."

No, I shook my head and held up four fingers.

It's only been four days, I slept in the street for three days and slept in this chair the fourth. How would he know that anyway?