There was no sound.

No white noise, no words spoken, no thoughts pacing through the innermost folds of his brain, and for a moment, he could barely hear his heart beating in his chest. His ears rang from the absence, pleading, Dear God there must be something going on here.

He struggled to think. His eyes would barely open, and his muscles felt constricted. He tried to move his fingers, and they were the only success he had. His wrists were slammed and cuffed with some sort of cold metal to a chair, and the same metal was binding his body and his chest back. He could not move.

This revelation alone set panic into his heart, and he forced his eyelids open. His breath came in short gasps, his skin trembling. It was white.

Everything was white.

The walls, the floor, even the window that hung in the wall before him. His chair was ivory, with silver iron cuffs that constricted him at the ribcage, wrists, ankles, and knees. The metal was cold, causing an uncomfortable difference between the heated lamps and the cage where he sat. He could burn easily in this controlled environment.

He tried to focus his eyes, but the lights were too bright, even behind the protective glass of his shades. He grunted with discomfort from the bright, hot white lights that surrounded him. Disorientation sat in, his mind swimming and blood heatedly racing under his skin. He suffered a headache not too long after opening his eyes. He panted, almost angrily as he realized where he was.

He growled in his throat and tossed his head angrily, whipping his sharp black hair as he went. He tried to pull the chair up from its nailed hinges, but it was no use. He was had. The feeling of defeat did not settle well over his features. A slight sheen was starting to work its way to the surface of his skin from struggling. He let out a roar before thrashing in his bonds. Still, no matter how wildly he fought, it was no use.

He stopped a moment to catch his breath, head hanging. He stared at his wrists, that were reddening from his cantankerous skirmish, small red lines had started to form, and his blood trickled gently. He grew frustrated as he remembered his situation, gritting his teeth. He had been here before. Numerous times.

A voice crackled overhead, riddled with static.

"Evening, Mr. Zahhak."

His head jolted to stare at the white window in front of him, his battered teeth bared slightly.

"Oh don't give us that look. You know exactly where you are, and you know exactly what will happen if you don't cooperate."

Equius shifted uncomfortably, and dropped his head backwards, swallowing the slight lump in his throat. He knew all too well what would happen if he fought. He could not risk that loss, not at any cost.

"There we are. Now. Hows about a glass of milk?"

"No thank you."

"Isn't it your favorite? You know you're thirsty from thrashing about like that."

"I'm -not- thirsty. I don't want any of your poisoned garbage." He shot the window a leer from above his shades. "Don't you pretend you know me either. I don't associate with the likes of any of you."

"Hmm hmm. Fine. Since you're so above us, we won't offer you a drink. You know why you're here and what is about to happen to you though."

"I don't deny that."

"Do you desist?"

"...What use would it be?" Even as the fire burned in Equius's blue eyes, the desire to fight and thrash at his captors and run back home as desperate as he could, he knew he couldn't. It broke his spirit deep inside, but he wouldn't let that be obvious. He couldn't let his guard down around this lot.

"There's a good pet. Now just sit still and try not to squirm."

He sat still, as told, and a small needle appeared through the arm of his chair. Propelled by a thin, metal apparatus, it made its way from his wrist to his thigh. As the thin metal injected itself into Equius's flank, a clear liquid forced itself into his bloodstream. He jolted, but it was no real pain to him.

A blue mark appeared on his skin, an arrow with a line intersecting it. The mark of the Sagittarius.

He felt light headed, and his heart immediately thundered in his chest. He felt his skin tighten, and his vision became vivid and clear. Every color on his person was electrified with vibrance, and the blue mark on his thigh remained. His breathing became deep, harsh. He watched as his skin changed hue, from a healthy peach tone to a sickly grey hue.

His head was pounding, the whites of his eyes turning flaxen to contrast with his already deep blue irises. He ground his teeth together, which quickly became the sound of fangs interlocking with each other, his gums and tongue bled a deep royal blue from the intense strength. But the worst pain was yet to come.

The horns.

The pain started from his crown and worked its way to the dome of his skull. It was a sharp, splitting, throbbing pain that made Equius scream desperately into the nothingness. Slowly, two curved horns colored like a hot iron poker forced their way out of his skull and scalp. They were thick, shaped like an arrowhead at each end. The pain was enough to cause Equius to want to fall to his toned knees and cry for hours. He withstood, light charcoal skin sheening with sweat from his intense hatred and the desire to not let a tear slip past his eye. He gritted his gnashing fangs together, muscles pumped full of blue blood and aching to break free. His bonds were too constricting. He had his power.

Effortlessly, and with another blood boiling roar, he broke free from his bonds, shattering the throne on which he sat asunder. He stomped on the empty vial that was used on him, huffing angrily like a crazed animal. He stared into the window, his eyes hollow with vehemence.

Whoever sat behind the window was not amused in the slightest.

"...and yet you desist." the voice crackled over the intercom. "Figures we couldn't trust a barbaric troll to keep his word."

"You'd have it no other way." Equius protested. He glowered, lowering his head. "How else would you experiment on a savage?"

"Indeed." The voice clicked again. It took a moment of silence before answering back. "Why don't we have a bit of sparring practice? See how your lovely troll powers pan out after being dormant since our last visit."

Equius pounded his fists together as his response. No words. Nothing to subtract from the silence other than a mimic of pure power.

Two doors opened. One on each side of the room. Stumbling from the dark corridors each were two orderly lines of drones, each crackling and sparking from the openings of their panels. Their eyes gave off an ominous red glow as they narrowed onto their dark-haired target. Equius's eyes widened and he stepped back. This was impossible. As many times as he had been captured, they never used these drones...no...these drones...

"Aha, we see you recognize them." The voice sparked again, highly amused. "These are the very drones you built in your factory in secret. We know the intent was to destroy us with these very same creations. Now, Equius, do not be simple and say we do not know you." The demented personality gave a chuckle over the intercom. "We know everything about our beloved trolls."

Equius could hear his heart in his ears, true fear settling in. He had lost control. He had lost everything before anything had even begun. His robots, his prized secret creations for his uprising, turned against him. He had built these robots in private, no one had known about them, not even his closest friend. Hopelessness clutched at his newfound power as the drones set in, bending their mechanical joints to strike a fighting pose. Their gazes were empty, ominous, unspoken threats. He shut his eyes closed, the only way he could think to avert their menacing stare.

"Now. Do us a favor, Mr. Zahhak, and see to it that these wretched beings are destroyed."

Equius could not move.

"Do not tempt us. If we knew about your precious robots, do not think we do not know where Nepeta is."

This revelation alone set panic into his heart, and he forced his eyelids open. His breath came in short gasps, his skin trembling. He saw white.

Everything was white.