On the other side of the world, the air was cold and sterile, filled with the faint hum of machinery.
Eccar sat in the center of a dimly lit metal room, his body bound tightly by thick chains that shimmered faintly with an unnatural energy. Shackles clamped around his wrists, ankles, and neck, their sharp edges biting into his skin.
His muscles burned from the strain of his contorted position and though his body ached, his mind remained sharp.
Eccar hated the fucking chains. The confinement, the helpless appearance, it all gnawed at him. But he knew better than to act rashly. This was part of the game. If he wanted his enemy to lower his guard, he had to play the part convincingly.
He gritted his teeth and forced his breathing to slow, his eyes closed as if defeated. Inside, his mind raced, analyzing every detail of his surroundings.
