The Interrogation
His body felt numb, like it had secluded itself and become part of the darkness he'd inhabited since Saturday night. They hadn't fed him. Only the occasional shoving of water down his throat to keep him alive. ...It wasn't like he hadn't gone without food before, but the lack of any sort of daylight or exercise made him seem pale, his muscles stiff. Dark rings under his eyes showed that though he'd relatively been left alone, he hadn't gained much sleep since he'd first awoke tied to the chair.
He felt he knew why he'd been taken in, though with someone like him, any number of past transgressions could have been the culprit as to why he was in such a disgusting base--even in the dark he imagined his skin trying to crawl away as the mere presence of the enemy tried to seep into his body.
It was the aforementioned transgressions that made him wonder why they hadn't killed him yet, though the answer soon found itself after the question had been posed--they wanted something from him. Well, they could just go fuck themselves.
The light flashed on in the room loudly and he hissed, the sudden ability to see burned at his eyes. The door opened to produce both of the Spies that had initially captured him--one wheeled in a cart that was just high enough to slightly distort and obscure its contents from his immediate vision, though he recognized one of the objects to be a hammer. --Oh. Well, this looked promisingly interesting. He kept his intrigue to himself, though. Both of his captors were greeted with a hateful glare and a muffled snarl.