Biography | Quentin Beck

Saturday, March 21st, 2025

Desperate cries of help echo'd the Ravencroft halls. Screams for the billionaire got stuck in Quentin's throat as the torture continued. His hands chained above his head, stretching out his arms as the doctor toyed with him. They were going to make sure he knew how to obey. 

Electric rods jammed into his sides with hurtful shocks. Pokes of needles to make him squirm. Blue eyes that once shined, so bright, had morphed into a cold, depressing gray. A once brilliant mind being melted to mush. Constant hits he was forced to take.

Wake up.

Wake up.

WAKE UP.

Blue eyes opened slowly, freeing the mind from the traumatic flashback. He wasn't in the shithole he called home, which started to make the man glad. That was until he noticed that the place he was seeing was way too nice to be a cell. Fuck.

Quentin stood to his feet and went to walk away, but quickly found out he was only able to lean forward. He turned his head behind him to find his hands chained to the sides of the chair he was sitting in. Red and gold metallic cuffs locked around his wrists. More flashbacks tried to trigger as his breathing became more and more panicked. No... he was back. He was fucking back!

He rolled up his sleeve to find his device gone. FUCK. But that's when he noticed something else... his arm had been sewn up once more, but the stitching looked more caring, careful... where was he? 

The chair was bolted down into the ground, so the plan of moving it was out the window. This didn't make any sense. The aesthetic of this place was too nice to be a hospital... and it sure as hell wasn't an S.H.I.E.L.D. cell like he was aiming for. The lengths of the chains connected to his wrists were too short, so he couldn't search the table in front of him. 

With nothing more to do, he sat back down. His leg bouncing from anxiety and his body shaking out of fear. When his breathing calmed back down to a normal amount, he could make out talking from outside the room. 

As his senses began to wake up... something happened. His nose caught a whiff of something. It smelled like.... cologne. No. It couldn't be. That was impossible, and it surely had been too long just to be able to identify off of a scent.

Oh... the man's face when that door opened.

Quentin's eyes widened to the max. The iris in his pupils tripling in size as he stared. It couldn't be. This was impossible. He had to be asleep...

Hopeful Blue eyes met angry Brown ones peeking out from sunglasses. Dark hair and dark outfits. A soft, warm, blue glow from underneath the clothes. 

The sides of Quentin's mouth began to curve into a smile as he continued to stare in absolute disbelief.

"..Tony?" The man asked with such a softness. 

The other person in the room furrowed his eyebrows and gritted his teeth. Hands rolling into fists as anger was a clear feeling. He took a breath before walking closer, removing his sunglasses to stare at what used to be his favorite person, right in the eyes.

"Beck." He spat with such hatred.

It was him. That cologne he smelled... he was right. He'd recognize it anywhere. He'd know who this was even if he were blind. You could even say both his heart and his soul knew. 

Why the hell is he smiling? Tony watched as the villain stayed seated. Not attempt of escape that he was planning on. Well, he couldn't have that. He stared with such disgust at the man before throwing his sunglasses back on. He requested Beck here for a reason.