Makun slowly opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy.
Pain ran through his whole body. His hands, ribs, torso, legs. Everything screamed at him.
He turned his head slowly to look at the state of his body, but all he could see were bandages. From head to toe he was wrapped in them.
He turned his head the other way to take in where he was. A cell. Concrete walls, cold and damp, with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling that flickered every few seconds, casting the room in and out of shadow. No windows. Just a small square hole cut into the metal door, barely large enough to see through.
Where am I this time?
Where did those three take me? Were they after me? Makun questioned himself.
He knew of suppression by the elite but had no idea they had forces to overlook the mystic world.
And he could not guess that instead of being locked here, he should have been dead.
Mark was calculated when it came to fights, but he was also impulsive and emotional.
