65
MThese bitches don’t know what is coming to them. I’m back—physically.
The first day after the heat was turned back on, it felt like thawing out of someone else’s body. The warm air felt like prickling needles across my skin as feeling came back in slow waves. Psychologically, I need more work, but physically? They don’t know what’s coming.
The food hit instantly. Heavy, warm, real. My body grabbed onto it as if it had been starving for years, not just days. By the second bowl, I could feel myself waking up from the inside. Muscles stopped trembling. Fingers stopped aching. My thoughts sharpened, edges coming back into focus. The cold fog that had been clinging to my skull just… lifted.
I started training that same night.
At first, my movements felt stiff, like my joints were coated in frost that hadn’t fully melted. But every rep pushed heatdeeper into me. Every breath felt stronger, fuller. My muscles remembered the work even if my body was slow to follow. And the more Emin, or the fucking master, fed me, the faster the strength came back.
By day three of warmth, it was like someone had flipped a switch.
The soreness faded. My balance returned. My hands steadied, and I felt solid in my own skin again.
The food they gave me wasn’t generous, it was calculated. Protein-heavy. Dense. Meant to refill everything I’d burned trying to stay warm. I could feel it working. My muscles felt fuller, harder. My stamina stretched longer each day. The kind of strength that sits deep in the core, coiled and ready.
Real sleep helped too, even if it was on this makeshift bed made out of thick-as-fuck blankets. Warmth wrapped around me, pressing the cold memories out of my bones. I’d fall asleep fast and wake up clear, no nightmares, no confusion. Just focus.
Vengeance.
A week in, I felt… restored.
No lingering chill. No shakes. No fog in my head. The cold hadn’t left a mark on me. If anything, it sharpened me. Forced me to rebuild myself piece by piece—stronger, steadier, hungrier.
The room still feels like a cage. But my body? My body feels like a weapon again. And every meal, every hour of sleep, every drop of warmth they gave me only forged it sharper.
They wanted me at full strength.
They succeeded.
Now they don’t realize what that means for them.
I’m pacing around the room because day seven is here. Emin barges into my room with a big bag in tow. He throws it down onto the floor, and I hear something clatter. The bag is a barrier between us—should I take it?
“Open the bag and see what we have in store for you.” Emin points to the bag, and I kneel to open it. Once it’s open, I’m genuinely happy.
Four hand grenades.
Three knives.
Two guns.
One bat.
A bat?
I pick up the bat and start inspecting it like it’s the first time I have held this piece of weapon in my hands. It’s good quality and heavy, made of metal. But it does raise one question.
Only someone whoknowsme knows how much I love using a bat.
What the fuck is happening here?
“When will it happen?” I ask Emin as I examine the other weapons to my disposal.
“Once you change into these clothes.” Emin throws me some clothes at my feet, and I pick them up. “You have fifteen minutes to prepare. See you soon,M.” The way he said'M'makes me believe he knows more about me than he led me to believe.
No time to ponder on what he said, I must change.
