“This is a dream. It’s not real,” he assured his frantic mind. But then he recalled Nico’s words. Piter would never play another mind game with him. A shudder ran through him. This was the cruelest reality.
His arms ached, wrists shackled together and suspended over his head by a thick chain looped through a hook in the unfinished ceiling. He straightened, easing his arms somewhat, but his legs shook, unable to bear his weight for long.
“Why am I here?” he whispered, licking his dry lips, becoming aware of his thirst. He couldn’t see much of the area, lit by a single bare bulb overhead spilling its sickly yellow light on him, but keeping the corners in shadow. He seemed to be the sole occupant except for a wooden table shoved against a wall. Various metal tools glittered on its surface, along with some long black objects that looked like various types of whips.
He blinked, his sluggish mind noting he stood naked, a bar between his ankles holding his legs several feet apart. What…