If Frank could have run, he would have. He had no choice but to stay. They had grabbed him and the grips on his arms were too tight for him to have gotten away. His fight or flight instinct was telling him to run like hell away from there, but the large men that were dragging him down stairs and poorly lit hallways were making his head say that this was definitely going to be a fight.
A loud knocking scared Frank. It had been silent aside from his small grunts and the shuffling of his feet, of their boots squeaking against the floor. Frank was scared. He couldn't see, though the bandana had slipped a bit and he got a bit of light from his right eye. He struggled as they shove him into a room, letting go of his hands so he falls onto the floor.
Luckily for Frank, they hadn't bound his wrists, so he was able to catch himself before his head hit. He reaches up and rips the bandana off, blinking slightly as the unwelcome fluorescent light hits his eyes. When his eyes adjust, he realizes that he's in an interrogation room of sorts, like those one would see in a crime show or movie. The set of handcuffs chained to the desk in the middle of the room make Frank's heart stop momentarily before it picks up, twice as fast.
"What's your name, kid?" Frank turns to the sound of the voice, only to be met with nothing. No one's in the room with him. But he knows he heard a voice. He couldn't be going crazy this early into it, could he? There's a sigh.
"I asked you what your name is." He backs into a corner, afraid. Frank doesn't know where the voice is coming from and he doesn't know if he wants to find out. The voice is angry and pissed off and he knows that its owner is probably no better.
Frank shakes his head and slides down, pulling his knees to his chest. His mind is moving too fast to keep up with. He doesn't even know what time it is, or where he is. All he knew was that it was late at night, or early in the morning, and he was underground somewhere, while a group of awful people were most likely plotting how to kill him without getting blood everywhere.
When the door opens almost an hour later, the man that walks in curls his lip in distaste. He had been hoping that getting his idiotic underlings to get him a new bodyguard would present him with a man who wouldn't hesitate to take orders and be completely competent. He had not, however, been expecting them to bring him a boy who was probably only nineteen and had the body of a twelve year old. The kid was all curled into himself, exposing only his neck, which showed him a scorpion tattoo that had four legs on one side and three on the other.
"What the hell is your name? I'm not asking again." He knew that he wouldn't be able to tell him. His guys had told him he was mute. The kid picked his head up and looked at him with large, hazel eyes. He was scared.
"Alright. Here." He throws a notebook and a pen at him. The kid picks them up and quickly scribbles something down before holding it up for him to see. The name FRANK is hastily written. He nods.
"Okay. Frank, I'm Gerard. You're my new bodyguard, got it?" The kid's face immediately twists into one of pure anger before he fires up and has Gerard by the throat against the wall. Gerard laughs as Frank swings a punch at Gerard's cheek.
The pain is ignored by Gerard, who simply pushes Frank onto the table and smirks at the squirming person beneath him. He laughs. Frank is scared again. He had been angry, but now the fear was creeping back into his consciousness.
"Oh, Frank. You've got a lot to learn." He slaps Frank, hard enough to snap his head to the side. Frank is stricken and shaking. Gerard watches as his handprint appears on Frank's smooth olive-tinted skin.
"Rule one: You don't fight me. You don't fight back if I hit you and you sure as hell don't pin me against walls. Unless you have something on your mind that's not hurting me, got it?" Frank slowly nods and Gerard straightens.
"There you go. Not so hard to behave, is it?" Frank shakes his head. Gerard laughs and runs his hand through Frank's hair. The smaller of the two men cringes. Gerard just tightens his grip.
"Oh, you've got a lot of learning to do, Frankie-dear."
