“If you just let me go,” Zac tried, “I won't... cause trouble for you. We can all just go about our business. No harm no foul?”

And for some reason that utterly reasonable and generous suggestion won Zac a solid punch right to the solar plexus. Which, hey, same place on an elf as a human. Fun fact. Also: ow.

“We're not letting you go, freak,” said someone directly behind him while Zac gasped like a fish, “until you tell us what you and the rest of you freaks are planning!”

Zac shook his head slowly. “I'm alone,” he gasped out. He was, in fact, the only elf in the area. He wasn't called the Clanless for nothing.

It probably wasn't wise to admit that, but he didn't want to be interrogated for answers he couldn't even give.

Which, a firm backhand from the big guy later, he realized was just what was happening.

“What are you, a scout? Spy?” Alex demanded.

Zac shook his head. “You know me. I'm just... I pretend to be a student. That's all. Sometimes, I teach. History mostly.”

One of the men who'd been behind him stepped into view. This one was older, with ears that protruded almost as much as a goblin's and a swiftly receding hairline of salt and pepper hair. He tapped something against his palm, behind his back.

“The Hidden!” the big eared one screamed in his face. “We know you're planning something. Something huge! Tell us what it is.”

Zac shook his head mutely. Hidden? He'd heard the term before, a time or two. He wasn't really sure what it even meant. He thought it had something to do with human magic users. Or maybe part humans like the Were-kin?

His silent response was mistaken for refusal, not inability, to answer the question. The big guy slapped him. The big eared one revealed what he had behind his back. A lighter, the long kind used for lighting grills.

The man flicked the lighter on. Zac strained back, kicking at him. Someone behind him grabbed him around the knees.

“Should've chained his legs, too,” one of his unseen captors muttered. “Bring me duct tape.”

Zac flailed, trying to twist out of the strong grip around his knees, but he had no leverage. Every movement pulled at the chains wrapped around his wrists, burning fresh points of pain into his skin. In moments, his ankles were bound together and the lighter was ignited again.

“No, please,” Zac begged, as the flame was brought close to the tender skin of his stomach. “Please, I don't know anything!”

The man grinned, as the flame brushed Zac's arm at the inside of the elbow, as he trailed the lighter across his exposed stomach. He laughed outright as Zac screamed and pleaded.

Zac panted as the lighter failed, and watched as the man clicked it again, and again.

“Please, Alex,” Zac looked to his once friend, “Please. You're better than this!”

Alex punched him in the gut.

“This is insane. I'm not... I'm just me. Just Zac. I can't... I can't tell you what I don't know!”

The big guy smacked him again. Zac's head snapped to the side from the force of it.

“I don't think we're getting through to this freak,” the big one said. “Think we need to get a little more... creative.”

Oh, that did not sound good.

“You could make this easier on yourself,” the one with the lighter said. “Are your little freak friends really worth all this? Ain't like any of them are gonna come rescue you. Even if they knew we took you, would they really bother?”

Zac slumped in the chains. There was literally no one likely to come for him. He was Clanless, an exile. He wished there was some conspiracy. Then there might be some hope of someone coming to his aid. As it was, all Zac could do was endure, and hope these madmen saw sense before they killed him.

“Drop him,” Alex ordered.

Someone fumbled behind Zac. He'd hoped, briefly, that the chains would be loosened but no. They were only detached from whatever held them to the pipe, and Zac plummeted unceremoniously to the ground. He had enough warning to curl up a little so he didn't hit his head on the concrete floor at least.

Zac tossed his head, taking in the number and position and armament of his captors. There were six, now. The boy hadn't returned to the room. They all wore guns, but none had them drawn. One man, tall and blonde with an expression of pure disgust marring what might have been a handsome face held a cattle prod. That explained the shocks.

Zac folded at the waist, pressing his weight on his bound hands. The movement tore a scream from his throat but he made it a battle cry as he launched a kick at the knees of the man closest to the door. With his full weight behind it, even from such an awkward position, Zac's movement sent the man screeching to the ground. Zac rolled with the movement, diving towards the door.

He should have taken out the one with the cattle prod. The device slammed into his shoulder blade and the man activated it, sending Zac back to the ground in a seizing mass of uncoordinated limbs. He thought something tore in his throat from the scream.

“Hold him!” Alex ordered. “Pin him down!”

“If he gets loose we're dead men!” shouted the one with the lighter.

Which was, actually, quite true.

His captors descended on Zac while he writhed on the floor, arms held up to protect his face and neck while desperately trying to keep the iron links of his chains from actually touching his face. Kicks rained down on his body, striking his shoulders, his ribs, his stomach. He curled up as much as he could, but someone pinned his legs down, someone else held his shoulders. His arms were forced under him. The chains pressed into the small of his back and he keened in pain.

“Listen to him,” said the one man who wasn't trying to hold Zac down, “aww, poor baby gonna cry?” He leaned over Zac's face, sneering.

Zac spit at him.

At least they couldn't use the cattle prod while they were actively holding him. They would just shock themselves too. Zac could handle a lot more voltage than an average human. It still hurt, though.

Zac fought hard, screaming every foul word he'd learned through three wars. Someone tossed a cloth over his face, an old, dusty towel. Someone else, presumably, knelt on his chest. Zac bucked and arched his back, fighting with everything he had in him.

It wasn't enough. Ice cold water struck his face, soaked through the towel and his hair, filled his mouth and nose even as he struggled not to breathe in. His chest burned, from water he'd pulled in at his first panicked gasp, from the weight of his captor's knee, from what was definitely more than one broken rib.

It went on forever. He fought not to black out. Either he'd pass out, and instinctively try to breathe, which would end with him dead or he'd enter the “blood trance” and wake surrounded by corpses. It didn't matter that they deserved it. He'd sworn. On the blood of comrades slain, he had sworn.

The water stopped, for a moment. Zac tossed his head, fighting for air, dared breathe in just a bit. There was a squeak of hinges. The door. The door was open. If he could get loose, just for a moment...

“W—what's going on?” the boy's voice.

“Jacob get out of here,” Alex ordered, “the creature isn't fully restrained."

So Zac was a creature now?

“B—but,” the boy, Jacob, choked out a faint protest. “Doctor Reed wants him,” the boy's soft voice declared.

Everything stopped for a moment, and the towel was pulled away. The knee on his chest lifted away. He felt things in his chest shift that should not move that way. He didn't care. He only cared that he could breathe.

“Let's go, freak,” the big guy said, “Looks like our fun is over. For now.”

For now was for long enough. Maybe this... Dr. Reed? Would be reasonable. Surely an educated being could be convinced to listen to sense!