Seeing Red

One - All Too Familiar

Matt awoke to an uncomfortable position, to say the least. The ginger's eyes fluttered open to blurry surroundings, blinking a few times to adjust to the lit-up room he was in. He could tell immediately by the color of the walls that he was certainly not home. This was no dream.

Emitting a groan from his throat, he began to look up. His head was aching badly, now that all of his sensory inputs were waking up from unconsciousness. Upon trying to lift his hand and perhaps rub the pain away, he found out quickly that he couldn't move it very far. It was chained to the wall behind him by a stiff metal cuff. Trying to move his other hand yielded the same result. He found out that his legs were folded beneath him, on his knees.

"Already tryin' ta find a way out, eh, inmate?" A voice sneered. It wasn't a voice he recognized though. Looking up, they matched the voice with a person; A balding guard in front of his room, a grid of bars making up the wall between them. He was well into his early-fifties, a smug grin on his face. He wore a red turtleneck and blue trenchcoat, as well as dark pants and boots. "Well, 'at won't do ya any good." He laughed, before a door opened further down the hallway, a creaking echo announcing someone's prescence.

As the guard glanced towards the door, his eyes widened slightly. His once-slouching posture was stiffened up to an attentive one, shoulders raised as he moved away from the bars, his arm moving into a salute. As Matt listened, he realized there was more than one person coming in, as evidenced by the multitude of boots clicking against the floor. Whoever they were, they must've been important. Matt looked through the bars apprehensively, hearing the footsteps come closer.

"At ease, soldier."

He recognized that voice.

Slowly but surely, the man behind the voice approached the bars, devil-horns and all. He drew a wheezy chuckle, before taking a deep inhale. "Hello, Matthew," he hummed with a small smile. Matt could see all the scars on his face, scabbed over and slowly healing. It made him sick to his stomach. Tord made a motion with his hand, one of his associates beginning to unlock the door to the cell.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." He began, "Waiting to for my revenge... waiting for you to be on your knees, in front of me... completely helpless, and completely at my mercy." By the time he stopped, they had unlocked the door. He stepped inside, heels clicking in the silence. He stopped in front of Matt, crouching down and slowly raising up his right hand. As he held the ginger's jawline, he shivered at how cold and unnatural it felt, head being forced up to look Tord in the eyes. He seemed amused, a small grin on his face.

"You'll be here for a long time, min kjære," he muttered, his voice hushed to a whisper. "Of course, it's up to how you act to truly guarantee your safety." Tord gently ran his thumb over Matt's cheek, eliciting a small gasp from him as he jerked his head away.

"Shut up!" he spat out, finally finding his words. "You--you hurt all of us! You hurt me, you hurt Tom, and Edd... You hurt all the neighbors, too!" Matt didn't look at him as he spoke, slouching away from the Norwegian. "They didn't have anything to do with it, and you just--"

He was cut off when a much warmer hand grasped his face. Tord was using his left hand now, groaning in exasperation. "Yes, yes. No need to remind me." He paused, studying Matt's expression. "You're clearly too... emotional, to speak now. I shall leave, and wait for you to calm down, yes? I'll send Paul and Pat to check up on you." Letting go of his face roughly, he mussed his hair with his hand as he stood, a small chuckle leaving his chest.

After that, he left the room, and the door swung closed behind him. His associate locked it, and they were gone, just as suddenly as they entered. It left Matt alone with a lot to think about; What did Tord want him for? How was he going to take his 'revenge?'

How will he get those goddamn chains off?