Can't Feel My Face, 2.0

I couldn't feel a thing before my eye's opened...but as I regained consciousness I assaulted by a sensory overload. The chill of the room...the overwhelming blackness... the smell of piss and beer stinging my nostrils. Blood was on my tongue and I could feel bruises all over. My eyes slowly adjusted, and in front of me my mask stared me down as we both lay broken on the ground. My feet and hands were chained together and linked to a pole that stood in the center of the dark room. Some light came from the bottom of a door just a couple of feet away from me, and . my body was beat down and all I could hear laying in what had to be my own blood was a radio playing the same song on repeat.

When that door finally opened, twelve men came in with ski masks on, all holding bats, crow bars and chains. They stood over me laughing, and one held my face up with his boot. The Red Brick Syndicate (put in a description of who the Red Bricks are), and they had me screwed and chopped up ready to be served for dead. The one holding my face with his boot hog spit right in my grill before the beat down took effect. I found something to focus on, and immersed myself in the song, letting it wash over me...in me...to help take me away from the onslaught. I've been here before, been trained just for situations as such, trained to take pain. But no-one can hold out forever and I could feel my body begin to weaken after each blow...it was time to make a move.

There was a collapsible 11inch steel bo staff that I kept in a hidden lining of my jacket and way to many weak links in the pipe I was chained to to hold me. I had played possum long enough...a lead I played had brought me here, and I put myself into the hands of the syndicate in order to find the whereabouts of a missing eight year old mentally ill boy who had been gone for days now. The boy was here, I could tell...one of the men was checking the door while the others brought the pain. The right placing of my bo between a couple of cracked links while they continued to beat down on me, and a hard twist would be my means to freedom. The snap from the chain breaking and the force from my pouncing to the air surprised them. As well as the snap from the hidden disk-blades I hurled at four of the punks, hitting the sensitive nerves in their necks. They never saw this coming. I love those who try to stand toe to toe with me, and these idiots were no different. Even at half strength they had no chance...I take three more out with the staff before it shattered from the impact. That was it's disadvantage--it was lightweight, perfect for keeping concealed, but not highly durable. Still, those three jaws I dislocated would say different. No weapons needed though, just my hands, the way I like it. My Master's old words still rang in my ears, "Move faster..Strike harder" and those tactics was being well used along with some devastating combos being delivered to the last six. By the time the last body hit the floor my mask was back on and I was kicking the back room door off it's hinges...but there was nothing, just a lamp, one beat up sofa and trash. The second floor was a dead end as well, then every room I checked after offered nothing to my satisfaction. I followed a bad lead, but the night was still young.

I prey I'm not too late.