"I have a name."
"No...you don't! Freaks do not have names, 1249. They have IDs. Your kind do not deserve names. Rotten, filthy, disgusting creatures. You hurt people for your own pleasure. It is our job to deal with you lot. One freak at a time."
"You say that like you don't get a kick out of all this. Out of torturing us. Torturing kids. We're all just the same to you, aren't we? Is that how you treat anyone who doesn't fit your idea of normal, throw them in here regardless if they're a freak or not."
"It is a job that has to be done. Someone has to do it or there would be chaos."
"You are all in here for a reason, 1249. You of all people know that." She stated with a malicious smirk.
That quitened the man in the chair.
"I thought so." She paused. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, your powers."
"I don't have powers."
"All freaks have powers. Now what are yours, 1249."
The man in the chair remained silent.
Pressing numerous buttons on the console beside her, the woman's expression was that of exasperation as she flicked the switch.
"Gah!" The man gasped out in pain as he bucked in the chair he was bound to. Thick leather straps held his wrists, ankles and torso against the harsh, cold seat. Electric passed through pads in the wrist cuffs and two other electrode pads attached to each side of his forehead. His back arched from the seat as far as the strap around his middle would allow. His eyes were screwed closed as he bit his lip through the pain, now drawing blood as a small trickle fell down his chin.
"Let's try that again." She flicked the switch off. "What are your powers, 1249?"
The man took a couple of deep, painful breaths, physically shaking from exertion before answering. "Don't have any."
"Wrong!" She shouted. "You are a freak and all freaks have powers!" The woman flicked the switch again, this time turning a dial as she did.
"Gahhhhhhhhhh!" The man screamed. Tears were trickling down his cheeks now as he continued to buck and shake.
A door could be heard before another man walked in. The Director. He was a tall man with the build of someone well fed. Wearing a black suit with a blue handkerchief folded neatly in the pocket, he looked at the woman and the man in the chair before he walked over.
"Any luck, Miss Rowell?" His voice was deep yet sharp as he inspected the console, taking in the settings used to cause the man in the chair so much pain.
"It hasn't broken yet, but I know I can make it." She answered peppily.
"Good. See that you do. I don't need to remind you of your mortality and failures statistics."
"No, Sir." The woman shook her head quickly. "Absolutely not, Sir."
"Good. May I?" He asked, stepping up to the console.
"Of course, Sir." She nodded before backing away.
"What is it's ID number?"
The Director pressed down the speak button on the console. "1249."
The man in the chair was still trying to get his breath back and fight through the pain from his last shocking. He briefly glanced at The Director before closing his eyes and leaning back against the top of the chair.
"1249. What are your powers?" He demanded.
"1249! What are your powers?" The Director shouted.
The man in the chair's eyes narrowed, now struggling to hold onto consciousness. His hands could still be seen shaking from the shocks. "My name...is Sam!" He spat out.
The Director turned to the woman.
"It's a work in process." She answered quickly.
Turning back to the console, The Director twisted the dial up to its top setting before flicking the switch.
The electricity could be heard shocking and coursing through Sam as his screams echoed through the facility.
"Make him talk, or you're gone!" The Director threatened before walking out of the room.
"Yes, Sir." She acknowledged.