❝ your allies will die or go mad. you'll never know whom to trust. you'll never have a normal relationship. and if you do find love, as impossible as it is, you must remember one rule. the most important rule: never have kids. NEVER. ❞ - n.r.
COVERS...
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Girls like her were born in a storm
Third Person P.O.V.
The room was illuminated by dark blue lights and a solitary chair sat in the very center. It could have almost been a throne to those who didn't know the true use for the chair and for the man who sat in it. He wasn't a king. Kings weren't controlled. Kings weren't tortured. And the man who sat within that solitary chair was both of those.
But today he was fighting.
Today, for some reason, he decided that he didn't want to snap his target's neck and torture his wife within an inch of her life.
He didn't want to.
He never wanted to.
They had him strapped down and there was blood all over his face from his most recent resistance that resulted in a bloody scuffle. The bindings weren't going to last long and everyone in the room made sure they stood at least three feet back so to be out of his immediate jumping reach. The man in the chair held an impassive face all except for the small, confident smirk he wore on his lips. They weren't going to break him. Not this time. He wouldn't let them.
The doctor bounced his leg anxiously as he watched his superior enter the room. His superior was not overly tall, was an older man in his sixties, and had white graying blonde hair. But he was intimidating. He had a reputation and even the asset was known to be afraid of him. Not because this superior had some greater strength that outmatched the asset's, but because of the painful and profound power he held over him, over everyone.
It was no wonder the doctor was anxious.
Who would want to be a bearer of bad news to a man like that?
The doctor turned to the man when he reached his side. The man simply studied the asset who didn't look anywhere except straight in front of him.
"Sir," the doctor spoke in a hushed tone, "the Asset is refusing to comply. We've tried nearly everything from electrical shocks to the promising of rewards. He won't be convinced. The stubbornness is back," the doctor scowled back at his asset.
The asset was once always like this. He used to always put up such a fight. For decades, the asset resisted the experiments and the brainwashing. They could only get him to complete relatively small hits if he was in a weak state. But then he broke. Twenty years of fighting and he finally broke like the animal they believed he was. He was their animal to control and, God, did they control him.
"Wipe him," the Superior narrowed his eyes at the asset.
He studied the silent man's demeanor. The superior was born exactly twenty years after the asset was and yet the asset still looked in his mid to late twenties while the superior was in his early to mid sixties.
