Vernon groaned as he stirred, pain throbbing behind his eyes. Cold steel beneath his back. The scent of rust. Chains rattled softly as he moved.
His vision cleared and the first thing he saw… was him.
The Masked Man, cloaked in black, leaned casually against a nearby table. His face was hidden behind a jagged white mask, one eye glowing faintly red.
Vernon blinked, trying to rise.
"What are you doing with us? Why am I here?" he demanded, voice low, but laced with anger.
The masked figure tilted his head, amused.
"I need you, Vernon."
Vernon frowned. "For what?"
"Your blood. Your rage. Your gift." The masked man's voice was smooth—almost friendly—but carried a cold finality. "You're a perfect vessel for what comes next."
Vernon's fists clenched. His chains tightened.
"You think I'll help you? You think I'll just hand over my power?"
The masked man chuckled softly.
"Oh, Vernon… you don't have to hand anything over. I'm going to take it."
