I bleerily wake up, thinking everything stinks for the world, and immediately start to gag.

Ugh...my mouth tastes like bung and week breath.

I sit up from my spot on the floor and try to run the soreness in my neck, only to be thwarted by the cursed restraint thing. I sigh through my nose. This sucks. And the worst thing is that the thing isn't even useful for them or me, it isn't attached to anything asides from my throat.

Upon inspection of the room I'm in, I notice that the walls are metal, there's only one door, and the ceiling is covered in several stalker-grade cameras. I grin at the cameras, then flip 'em the bird.

Have you ever seen those signs that tell you to "Smile, you're on camera"? They are stupid yet hilarious. Who in their right mind would smile at a camera before stealing from the place? That just makes you look sharper than ever.

Anyway, I try to stand up, but my legs still haven't decided to take back their resignation.

I shout at the cameras, "Wow, what a nice necklace you gave me! Do I get to meet the nice men in blue or what?"

Yep. I am sooo happy right now. Not.

A hole opens in the bottom of the door, and someone pushes a tray of food inside. My stomach growls, but my mouth is so dry.

I eat the food, noticing how my mouth isn't even making saliva anymore. After a couple bites I'm full, which shouldn't be happening.

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak. Merde! I was able to talk earlier. What happened?

The food probably dehydrated me. Stupid drug combination. I'm already imprisoned, what more do they want from me.

After thorough inspection of the room, I decide that there isn't a way out yet. I drag myself over to a corner facing the door and wait.

After about ten minutes or something, the poorly shaven fellow walks in with a cup of water. My eyes latch onto it immediately. I unconsciously lick my lips, then wince from the stinging. Shouldn't have done that.

The man in black pushes a button on his wrist, which somehow activates the protruding of an interrogation table and wheely chairs. He tells me to go sit in the chair...which is about five yards from where I'm sitting.

I silently point to my legs, hopefully giving him a 'dumbgrass' face. The adult frowns, then walks over and picks me up by the shoulders and sits me down in the chair.

Ow. Note to self: DO NOT hang from your shoulders!

He sits down in the chair opposite mine and asks me, "What's your name?"

I point at my throat, trying to communicate how dry it is.

He sighs, "No, I'm not going to take the inhibitor collar off. What is your name?" Huh, so that's what it's called.

I roll my eyes and point at the cup of water, then at my throat. Hello, haven't had liquids in more than 48 hours. Kinda slow on the uptake, aren't ya?

The weird dude passes me the glass and silently watched me as I drink it. What? I can't exactly use this to break out, can I? Or can I?

Before I go off on a hopefully useful tangent, he asks me the question a third time. "What is your name?"

Can he say anything else?

I smirk after downing the glass. "Name's Twitch. And by the way, when I get this collar off, my metabolism would probably dissolve the tracker. And I used an alias when writing to Kid Flash, Mr. Wallace West, whatever I'm supposed to call him. I am not stupid."

Bluff on only one piece of information; Bet you five pennies that you'll guess it.

I bring my hand up to my face and notice the mask's still on my face. I turn my head to him, silently questioning why it's still on.

"The mask was designed to be only removable by the wearer. How did you remove it?"

I roll my eyes. "I pried it off, genius. Isn't that hard for someone with fingernails. Now, what is this place? Are you doing something illegal that requires that you hide your faces so that you don't get caught, or is this normal attire?"

Yes, I am mocking them. Grassholes.

He ignores my last question and says, "We are in a high-security facility designed to hold enhanced individuals like yourself. Who trained you, and how did you end up in the Speed Force?"

Okay...crazy hairy ninja put me in a super-prison and asked me some stupid questions.

I put my hands together in a tent, pressing my fingertips together, and smirk. "That is classified information, sir." What? Two people can play at this game. I'm bored, so might as well.

The man in the chair pinches the bridge of the nose of his domino mask. "Just answer the question, kid."

I bite my thumb at him and spin myself in the chair. "I bite my thumb, sir, at your poor memory skills. I don't know which question to answer since you asked two, not one. And anyway, you didn't answer my question about the legality of this situation, so I am not inclined to answer anyway. Are you assuming my age, sir?"

He stands up and places both hands on the table, trying to be intimidating. The man says in a growly voice, "We have ways to get information, Twitch, not all of them comfortable for you. And yes, we know that you are ten years old. Now answer both the questions, or else." Poor guy, his throat must have a hard time of it.

I chuckle, enjoying the irritation on what I could see of his face. "I trained myself, moronic sir, and I was born and raised in the Speed Force. Any more questions before I find a way to get out of here?"

His mouth goes in a straight line. "It's Batman to you, Twitch. How did you get here?"

I roll my eyes, then realize that he can't see them. I cross my arms instead, still spinning in the chair. I'm starting to get sick, but this is fun. "Dude, your Kid Flash, AKA Wallace West, 14 years old, and Kid Flash Sr. kidnapped me and put me in your medical storage closet. How did you not realize that?"

Then I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with excessive disorientation and subjection to minor G forces. "You didn't know, did you? Their mission wasn't authorized. Why was Saint Quiver sitting behind the mirror of the closet?"

Bat dude taps the comm piece in his faux ear. "Flash, can you confirm what she said?" After a second, he curses, then abruptly storms out of the room, leaving the chairs behind.

I rub my hands together, then try to stand. Huh, a bit wobbly, but it'll do.

I walk back over to the food I put on the floor earlier and finish it, starving. My stomach growls at me, still hungry. Knew the collar wouldn't work for long.

Sizing up the door, I put the cup on the floor and lift the table, estimating its weight. It'll be enough.

I carefully pick it up all the way and balance it on the two skinny chairs, then push the structure as far away from the door as possible. Then I run, shoving the structure at the door and putting a dent in it. I repeat the process again and again until the door buckles under the pressure, leaving me a way out of the room.

I pick up the cup again and throw it at the ground, shattering it. I pick up the two largest pieces and walk out, flipping off the cameras as I do.

Time to save my grass.