You truly are like your father

In a dimly lit secret lab, Han Xin's head hung low, his body sprawled against the cold, unforgiving wall. Plasma cuffs locked his wrists and ankles, the devices biting into his skin with burning precision.

The plasma cuffs left angry burn marks, each movement sending waves of searing pain coursing through him. He gritted his teeth against the agony, his face bruised and streaked with dry blood, a stark reminder of the torment he had endured. The corners of his lip and cheek were swollen, a raw testament to the plasma whip that had lashed at him repeatedly.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, pooling against his brow, while the throbbing of his veins echoed like a drum in his ears. A twitch from his finger hinted that he was on the brink of consciousness, fighting to claw his way back to awareness.