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      My eyes snapped open, trying to take in my surroundings. The problem was, it was pitch black, and I couldn't see anything.

     The memories replayed in my mind: the taser, the men in the black suburban, and the drugs they'd forced me to take.

      I tried to move my arms, but I couldn't. Clenching my hands into fists, I realized that they'd chained my arms to a chair. I tried to get my arms free with all my strength, but I couldn't move. My legs were stuck too, and as much as I tried to get them free, I couldn't.

      I might have been making a little noise from rattling my chains, because suddenly, twenty feet away, a door opened. It let a path of yellow light into the pitch black room, and I could make out a figure in the doorway. He had used keys to open the door, which meant that I had been locked in the room.

      The man flipped on the lights to the room, but it was still a little dark in the large room. I noticed that there was a table set up in front of me. I looked down. I was chained to a metal chair by both my hands and my legs. The legs of the chair were welded into the metal ground. These people really weren't taking any chances.

      It didn't take a genius to realize that they knew at least something about my past.

      I saw the man walking towards me. Just from his outline, I could tell that he had a gun on him. He shut the door, but I could see someone's feet in front of the door. It took me a minute to realize that they were guards, guarding the door. I knew that they were guarding it because I was in there, and not from something outside. They knew I was dangerous. They knew what I could do and what I had done.

      The man sat down at the table in front of me, and switched on a lamp on the table. The little lamp lit the room up more than the ceiling lights did.

      The man in front of me was maybe forty years old, with a tough and proud-looking face. He had dark, close-cropped hair that was beginning to go gray near his temples.

      "Delphinium Olesya Tesla," he started out, saying my name. His dark eyes looked almost like liquid as he searched my face for a reaction.

When I didn't respond, he smiled and said "I heard you gave some of my agents a hard time. Simmons has a broken leg and a couple of ribs, and Prowley has a concussion and a knife wound."

I dropped my gaze to the ground, and then to my chains, still not speaking to this unknown man. He nodded his head as if I had said something. I suspected that I'd told him something without actually speaking anything.

      He then said, "You do speak English don't you?" His dark eyes bored into mine, trying to get me to crack.

When I didn't respond, he continued by saying, "Or do you only speak Russian?"

For the first time, I spoke. "No." The desire to know what I was doing there overrode my precautions.

"Good. Everyone else speaks English so we don't have a problem."

"'Everyone else'?" I asked, finally opening up to him a little, my eyes coldly watching this strange man.

"You'll see," the man said vaguely. "You're probably wondering why I brought you here, to New York."

I didn't answer, though I was taken aback. I lived all the way across the country, in California. I had been drugged long enough for the flight to New York?

      "Delphinium Tesla, I have you here for a purpose. I won't hurt you unless you try to either escape or hurt me. But I don't think you'll do either of those?" He phrased the last sentence as a question but it sounded more like a command.

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