Faced with such a situation, forced to lie on the ground with their own arms twisted and broken into grotesque shackles behind their backs, three of the blessed fell silent.
They gritted their teeth, chests heaving, eyes flicking toward each other in panic. They didn't know what move to make.
One wrong word, one wrong twitch, and they knew they could end up far worse than they already were. So they bit down on their pain, sweat dripping down their foreheads, forcing themselves into silence.
But the man with glasses, the "techie" of the group, couldn't.
The agony was too much, the humiliation too sharp.
"Y-You bastard!" He screamed through gritted teeth, his voice cracking with rage and fear. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?! I'm from the Federation, the Federation, damn you! Of all places!"
His voice grew louder, more frantic, spit flying with every word.
