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He woke up, hung from the ceiling by his arms, and black rage flooded through him. Something was going to die.
“What is your name?”
“I don’t have one, you fucking asshole. You know that. We’ve been through this twelve times in the past three days! I have fucking amnesia from the last time you waterboarded me. You think that’s legal? You think you have a right to that? ‘Cause you don’t. I don’t know who you think I am, but I have rights you asshole. Fundamental human rights that you and your shitty government agency - your adolescent rehabilitation center - doesn’t have the authority to infringe.”
“Quite knowledgeable for a man with amnesia, aren’t you?”
“Oh, is that how it is now, you’re gonna mock me. See if I’ll break. Try it you fucking bastard, I dare you.”
“Why do I need to mock you? You do so well on your own when we leave you alone.”
Silence.
"Did you think we didn’t know? We have cameras Dan- demon. We’re always watching.”
“Aw, does someone have a crush? That’s cute. Real cute.”
“What is your name?”
“Why are you asking when it seems like you know? What did you say before Dane? Was that my name?”
Silence. They’ve been caught.
“But no, it was more like Daa- long ‘a’ sound, Dante maybe? Like the poet? Huh, cute.”
He probably wasn’t Dante. He didn’t know who he was, but the name chafed. It didn’t feel like him, but if they wanted him to be Dante, he’d be Dante.
Yeah, he could do that. Just let them fill in the blanks. It was easy enough to make Mr. Big-shot-Voice-Box slip up, the man could not hold his banter. And that was how he’d do it. He’d get out of here. He slid up from the slouched, hanging position he’d been in for hours. His shoulders were killing him, and so were his feet, but he wouldn’t be here much longer. He rolled his shoulders as well as he could in the bonds, rolled his neck, started working the kinks out of his muscles, and a slow smile took over his face.
Just a little while longer, and he was out.