The pale person's shoe met my face.
Not hard. Not enough to knock me out or break the skin. Just enough to sting.
Just enough to humiliate.
"Oops," the pale man said, faux-gentle. "Did I step on something important? No? Then let's try again."
Another light kick. My chin jerked sideways.
The guards holding me down didn't speak. They didn't need to. I could feel their weight like concrete poured across my spine, their knees grinding into my joints, fingers pressing down like steel bands. I couldn't move. Not an inch.
Not even with my strength—which was the equivalent of 5-6 average men.
But nothing responded. My skills flickered like dying bulbs. Strength, durability, speed—not a single aspect from any of them was operating at full capacity.
