A Tale of Mischief and Mutants

Interrogation

—-Sam—-

I had been shutting my eyes and trying to fall back asleep, trying to pretend he was still with me. When they came, two S.H.I.E.L.D agents one holding the remote to my collar.

"Come along mutie we got some questions for ya."

When I started backing away, both struck by memories of being called mutie like it was my goddamn name for five years and shocked by the S.H.E.I.L.D staff's nonchalant use of the slur, I felt a familiar pain that started in my neck then radiated through my entire body. It had been my understanding from my 'conversation' with Fury that S.H.I.E.L.D didn't use that function of the collar, apparently that had been a lie.

The shock continues leaving me immobilized as they come towards me, they pick me up and drag me out of the room. The hallway is busy with activity and I'm not the only person being hulled around. No one takes any notice of me.

They bring me to an interrogation room they turn off the shocking in the collar and start drilling me with questions. When my answer is silence they become violent. I don't know what to do. My voice is lost to me from fear I physically can't force my lips to move as if they've been stitched shut. If I fight back the shocks will start up again. It's abundantly clear now that their questioning isn't exactly S.H.I.E.L.D sanctioned.

Some of the questions they're asking... the amount of aggression on display... the blatant use of a slur... no, it's because I'm a mutant. Another blow this time to my left eye sends my head into a spin. I do what I've practiced for years and become a rag doll. I try and make myself numb like I had so many times before. They'll get bored eventually. I try not to show any emotion it only encourages the kicks and blows.