The sound of a beeping machine woke Jungkook from his slumber, a steady bedeep bedeep bedeep intruding into my subconscious and pulling him back to reality. His eyes opened and a blurry grey ceiling came into view, his vision foggy and his head feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton. Something gripped his wrists tightly and he tried to lift his head to see the restraining object, but immediately the bile rose in his throat and his stomach cramped with pain. He could hear the distant sound of voices but he couldn’t make out the words through the fog in his mind, and in only moments he succumbed back into the welcome arms of sleep.   When he woke again the fog was lessened and he could make out the details of the room; dirty grey ceiling and floor joined with thick iron bars, and panic hit him hard as he realized where he was. He tried to get up from the reclined chair where he had been laying, but the tight grip on his wrists pulled him back and he looked down to see leather cuffs strapping him to the chair. He fought the urge to cry and reached deep within him, searching for his power so he could blast out of this cell…   And searching, and searching.   Gone.   His power was gone. No trace of the electricity was to be found, no hum of power, no soothing touch to let him know he wasn’t helpless. Tears formed in his wide eyes and he struggled in vain against the binds holding him, tears of loss and tears of regret.   He would rather have died than be captured, rather die fighting bravely than be caged again and used like an animal. But how would they use him if he no longer had power? They were just going to take him back to The City and execute him for the things he’d done, things that anyone in his place would have done, but still outlawed actions. The tears traced open paths down his cheeks as he thought of his mother’s cold and distant face; would she be there at his execution? And if she were, would she cry to see her only son put to death? Or would she cheer alongside the crowd who thought that The Broken were monsters?   Footsteps sounded down the hall, becoming louder as the person making the noises came closer. Jungkook did his best to choke back the flow of tears, to stem the hopelessness. Never let the enemy know they’ve won.   A large man in a military uniform came into view, the keys on his straining belt jangling as he pulled them off and unlocked Jungkook’s cell, kicking the door open to lean against the doorjamb. His one meaty hand held a roll of kimbap and he ate on it casually as he watched Jungkook’s face with his close set eyes. “So,” he drawled, a slow way of speech that made Jungkook have to strain to hear him, “You’re the leader of this rabble of an uprising.”   His eyes gave the young teen a close scrutiny before he sneered, the bit of seaweed stuck in his teeth making him seem much less threatening. “You know, we were told to keep an eye out for you and capture you if we could, but I don’t see what the big deal was. You’re a scrawny little kid, powerless and sniveling. How you managed to even get this far is beyond me. Your entire little group ran as soon as we attacked.” He gave a snort of derision, the sound awfully similar to a pig who is searching for truffles, and shook his head. “A bunch of riff raff.”   He leaned his considerable girth into the cell to grasp the door before pulling it shut and locking it once again. The click of the lock seemed like the click of a gun to Jungkook, a sentencing of death. He looked up and met the fat man’s eyes, a scared young boy to a uncaring man, and saw only coldness and greed there. “You’ll be headed back to The City tomorrow; don’t you try any of that voodoo crap or we’ll riddle you with enough holes people could play jenga with your body.” And with that final warning he turned and ambled off, leaving Jungkook to fall back into his own personal pit of despair.   One tiny glimmer of hope kept him hanging on, though, no matter how small it was in that moment. The man was still afraid that Jungkook would try something with his power, and that meant that they hadn’t taken it from him. He still felt a little queasy and addled and thought that maybe they had drugged him, inadvertently pushing his power away. But the small, nagging voice in the back of Jungkook’s head said that maybe he had pushed himself too hard out there, and in the process burned his own power out of him. If that were so…    If that were so, he was as good as dead already.   Night came and no guards to accompany it, no food or drink to help sustain him, no questions and no caring. It gave Jungkook ample time to think, though, about what his life could have been like had he not had a power. He could be back at home right now, eating his mom’s delicious cooking, doing his homework with his best friend, daydreaming about the classmate he’d had a