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The floor was hard and cold; it was the colour of an overcast sky. His head ached, a dull throbbing pain which seemed to echo inside his skull. Probably due to the gun butt that had struck him there. His eyes spotted the shiny black boots before him, so polished to perfection that he could see his reflection in them.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

He didn't answer.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

He didn't know what to say so he kept quiet.

"Who do you work for?"

He sat up and looked at the crisp, clear figure before him. Noticing that his hands were shackled before him.

"Your mom," he replied.

That's when the stranger's boot kicked him.